


The Sun's In Your Eyes

by Bidawee



Series: we took care of marner (mobsters AU) [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Mob, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Gang Violence, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Violence, On the Run, Possessive Behavior, Psychological Torture, Threats of Violence, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-05-20 00:12:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14883926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bidawee/pseuds/Bidawee
Summary: Minutes later, Mitch turned to him lazily. The drugged-like movements were indicative of a bigger problem (he was sure the kid wasn’t sleeping) but at the moment, the lack of energy was a Godsend. A reminder that they had this, and themselves.“For what it’s worth,” Mitch breathed, “I think you’re doing a great job with me.”





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> [This is a work of fiction and does not accurately depict the people listed inside. Please do not share this on social media nor harass people about it, whether they are in the story or not. Please know that I do not condone any non-consensual actions, abusive relationships, or violence and am only using this as a character study. Thanks.]
> 
> If you haven't read the previous instalments of the series you will be confused, so do check out the previous entries and see if it tickles your fancy. I do my best to tag any squicks or explicit content in the end notes but do tell me if there's something you'd prefer I tag and I will be happy to accommodate.
> 
> I say it always but I love comments, both on here and tumblr. I do my best to reply to all and incorporate your ideas and feedback. Thanks in advance for all you beautiful souls that take the time out of your day to talk with me. That goes out especially to Ells and Jiggy--you two are my muses, I swear. Love ya.

**October 18, 2026**

Zach fucking hated the aristocratic build of the downtown apartments. The modernistic sheen, drenched office plants, open windows; everything. But today, dead on his feet, he was willing to make an exception for himself and schmooze with Auston while he was at it. To make the best of a bad situation, of course.

Auston was quick to loosen his tie the second they were out of the public eye, swiping his elevator card with no hesitation and sending the both of them ascending in a streamline fashion up the shaft nestled in the apartment complex.

The autumn chill was beginning to take seed, the beginning of ventilation system inside the elevator shaft replacing the chilling outlier breeze with a waft of heat that pushed its way to Zach’s soles. For the first time since that morning, he could suck in air obnoxiously and flash his bruised knuckles without turning heads, the privilege of walking Auston home after negotiations and not having to use public transport--an unfortunate byproduct of sidelining the commute that day.

The all-mirror look of the elevator gave Zach the opportunity to tuck his shirt back into his pants and fluff up his hair where it had been grabbed by one of the board managers during the daily report reading. It was willfully unprofessional but he supposed that was the intention, to rile him up by degrading him to grunt-level punishment. It wasn’t as if he had any control over what the Furies or Marlies did in their spare time, but the fact he was held accountable for their grievances in Montreal only made contempt broil in his veins.

Auston looked worse for wear, but he too was smoothing down the wrinkles in his suit jacket, tugging off the beanie he’d been adorning and running a hand through his gel-slick hair. He slid his elevator card back into his leather wallet, then addressed Zach with the clearing of his throat.

“I hope you’re as enthusiastic about this dinner as I am,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose between this thumb and pointer finger; a habit of his when people were being particularly frustrating. He was probably the only twenty-something to pull it off without looking stupid, but that was largely in part to the bags under his eyes and business attire he sported more than his actual face.

“Oh trust me, I’ve been on the edge of my seat all afternoon,” Zach replied, deadpan. Auston laughed under his breath, beckoning him inside with a swipe of his hand when the elevator doors slid open. The mechanical smell of leather combined with detergent and cologne leaked in through the gap, meeting Zach with a familiar kiss on each cheek. The rather severe and gloomy complex beckoned its master in with open arms, as he placed his laptop sleeve on the arm of the couch.

As undisturbed as always, the windows overlooked a city at work, bustling with people of all ethnicities and working classes. Lake Ontario loomed in the distance, the water no longer the murky gray it had adapted over the years, but instead, an icy-cold blue that reflected the weak sunlight as best it could. The overcast skies were already dimming, the onslaught of dark clouds a bitter reminder of winter’s brutality almost sleeping on their doorstep.

“I’m just glad we get a few hours to ourselves,” Auston said, walking over to the island counter. Not a single plate was out of place; all of them were stacked neatly in the drying rack, dishwasher beside it churning. Seeing as how Mitch could be notoriously picky with what chores he did and didn’t do, it likely entailed that the cleaning maid had come by.

Auston pulled out a bottle of wine from the rack built into the structure of the kitchen counter and raised his eyebrows at Zach, hands already twisting the cherry-red cap. Zach shook his head.

“I’ll get plenty drunk tonight, but thank you.” Auston smiled, but put the bottle back in the cabinet and closed the door. Free to use his hands, Auston wiped down the counter using a discarded washcloth thrown over the sink’s edge. It was meaningless, every inch of the marble sparkled with due care.

“I usually indulge in a glass before I go; you never know what they’re gonna force down your throat there.” He wiped a hand across the back of his neck. “But I guess you’re right. It’s going to be a long, long night if they’re going to push more disability benefits in the workforce. Better to be conscious for the most part.”

Zach’s throat felt dry, and part of him wanted that sip of wine now. “Yeah. I’m going to bank only three hours of sleep if I’m lucky tonight. They will feed us there, right?”

“It’s supposed to be a formal dinner; that’s what the email said. I’m sure you could snack on something here. Which reminds me,” he pushed himself away from the silverware and cutting boards. “Hang on, I just got to let Mitch know I won’t be home for dinner.” Zach nodded to show he’d heard, then unlocked his smartphone only to be met with the infuriating amount of emails in his inbox, still flocking by the minute.

He heard Auston calling his husband’s name from down the hall, but thought it was just him rousing his slumber or patting his back to get his attention through the rock music he had blaring through his headphones. He thought nothing of it, because there was nothing to think. He saw Mitch more often than not, played Euchre with him, Auston, and Willy after a long day at work to unwind. The kid was not a scare, never exercised unpredictable beyond the scope of what was to be expected for someone of his power.

Zach moved to sit down on the ottoman in the living room, stealing a glimpse of Auston exiting his room and reentering the guest bedroom adjourning it. Zach looked back at his phone, closed the tabs he had open and briefly considered turning on the television for white noise to occupy his sense of hearing.

“Hyms,” Auston called out, a few minutes later. “Is Mitch in the living room with you?” Zach dutifully swiped his head back and forth, peeking at the lump of blankets on the far couch pushed up against the wall. He stood tentatively and yanked them back. Nothing. No one was hanging around the windows or bar either.

“No. I don’t see him here,” he answered, loudly. His voice came out hoarse, a result of something akin to a toad getting stuck in his throat. He had to cough twice to get the tickle out from his chest.

Now he _really_ wanted that sip of wine. More so because dealing with Auston’s possessive shenanigans with failing health was deserving of a glass to wash his palette with.

Auston slinked out from the hallway with a disgruntled look on his face. He made a beeline for the marble counters and retrieved his phone, which he had placed face down. Zach heard him dialling the keypad before he saw it, accommodating Auston on the loveseat behind him as he heard the line on the other end ring. Auston was playing with a hangnail in his thumb as he waited for the unknown number to pick up.

“Maybe Willy took him out somewhere,” was all he said, justifying the call. Zach opened his mouth to answer, but Willy beat him to it, a barrage of noise answering Austons’ six o’clock summon. Auston’s head wrenched away, eyes squinting.

“Hey Will, just calling to ask where you and Mitch are.” He paused for a moment, Willy’s deep laugh audible even from a few feet away. Then, Auston sat up straight, left hand flying to his knee and squeezing. “Oh, he’s not with you? Marty did? Okay. Thanks again.” Auston hit the end call button, giving Zach a torn look chock full of unbridled panic.

Zach’s first reaction was to placate him. “Okay calm down, he’s probably out getting milk or something, nothing out of the ordinary,” he said, but Auston looked worse for wear.

“Marty’s not allowed to be alone with Mitch,” he said, voice hollow. It felt like he’d barely acknowledged Zach’s help. “He _knows_ he’s not allowed, I told him myself. He’s supposed to call if they so much as leave the apartment.” Anger was steadily reaching into his voice and pulling the reason out of it piece by piece.

Marty being out with Mitch was separate from everyday routine--maybe that was the root of all the panic. But Zach still wanted to believe it was a misunderstanding, if only because he was the only person in the room with Auston at that capture in time. Auston, who was devoted to his husband more than three married couples combined and came to Zach’s cubicle every morning when Mitch’d first came over to make sure he was being as sincere and romantic as could possibly be. _That_ Auston.

“Marty’s been getting on my nerves lately, that son of a bitch is cutting it close. If he thinks he can just walk all over me with my husband then he’s got another thing coming.” Auston’s hands scrambled to pick up the phone again, opening to the home screen after a hastily typed password was punched in by his thumbs.

“How long has this been-”

“He’s not there to get up in my business about what I can and can’t fucking do. This is the last straw,” he spat. “Fine. Let’s see where they are.” It was an awkward silence, hung between them with little concern for Zach’s comfort. Auston was staring straight through him, clutching the phone like it was the one glass of water and he was stranded in the Sahara desert.

The beeping that met the outreach was simplistic, but it sent a shockwave between the both of them that was only comparable to a gunshot.

Auston stood up, abruptly. “What the fuck.”

Zach wasn’t compelled by the scenario to ask, but he felt it was only courteous to do so.  “What?”

“It’s saying the phone number is disconnected. That’s impossible.” Panic laid thick, Auston’s remaining hand tugged at the strands of his hair, harder and harder until it hurt just looking at him. It was a mutual horror that they shared, his arteries contracting at the thought that something deep-seated and secure between them was broken. A part of the equation was wiped clear, a blank slate that sliced the unit in two.

“Did he close the account?”

“I don’t know!” Auston screamed, forcing Zach to wince in sympathy in order to appeal to the remainder of his good graces. “God-- _Mitch_. Where’s Mitch.” The poor man was so distraught he almost misplaced his phone, the device sleeping aimlessly between the globes of the couch cushions. Zach made to offer his own before he swiped it, animosity masking all of Auston’s interactions as the search commenced.

The bad, rotten feeling in the back of his throat made it hard to swallow.

Auston lifted the cell phone to his ear, skin a ghostly white that made him blend into the walls and glass panels locking them inside. “Mitch?” he said, almost tentatively. “Come on Mitchy, please pick up.”

The phone rang from down the hall. The same five chimes and vibration combo that rang out whenever Auston called. Precautionary. Zach had picked it out because it was distinctive, couldn’t be mistaken for any random gawk on the street, and the spacing between the dings made it hard to miss. Now, the spaces in between the little noises were deafening, and he wished it had been something shorter so that he didn’t have to watch and wait for the final chime to tell him what he already knew.

“Fuck!” Auston swore, and that was enough. Zach sprung into action, his own personal safety in mind.

“Okay--okay. Let’s see who’s in around the area and work back from there.” There was an initial observation in mind; Ottawa was causing them a handful of trouble lately because of the insurance benefits they’d stripped. That and the small businesses they puppeted in Ontario meant a feasible enemy, and unfortunately, a target on Auston’s back should they trace the records to him.

Auston looked up, for once resembling more a child than a business executive. “What do I do?” Zach grabbed at his hands, noticing they were shaking.

“We look for him. They couldn’t have gone far. Let’s get some of our men out to Ottawa and Buffalo, check the security feeds on campus, and call his professor.“ In an instant, the holes punched in Auston’s defences were repaired, and he looked Zach straight in the eye as a cold darkness crept into his pupils.

“No. No--it’s not them. It’s Martin,” he said, voice dark. Without waiting for a reply, he flocked down the hallway, leaving Zach destitute in the living room wondering what the hell was going on. He decided to follow him into the master bedroom, finding the usually calm and composed man throwing open dresser drawers and tossing out fabrics in every direction.

“Martin?” he voiced, standing close to the doorframe and out of sight. Auston looked to have come to a conclusion from the first few drawers he checked, the insides messy and lacking much substance. It was a big red flag; Auston loved nothing more than to treat Mitch with fancy clothing and accessories. Seeing Mitch’s belongings mysteriously gone only indicated one thing.

Intention.

“I know he took him. He’s been acting weird from the start.” The babble became increasingly more frantic, to the point where it became hard to understand just what Auston was trying to convey beyond the opaque anger his mind was generating.

Zach titled his head. “Wouldn’t he just go back to Olivia?”

“Not Olivia, Abigail.” Auston jolted up, and before Zach could correct him that he was referencing the wrong woman, was pacing in the direction of the window. “Abby fucking Abigail. I’ve already taken care of Olivia, she won’t go near him. Abby's another story. She’s pregnant, you know?”

Pregnancy equalled flight risk; men too overcome with affection to understand that they had a duty to their organization. Shakespearean yes, clever, no. It would make a good script for a movie but now Matt had a man on the brink of despair and seconds away from raking carpet up with his fingernails. He’d gone and made a stupid enemy and Zach felt no pity for him.

 

Click.

 

_“Yeah. Yes. Hello sir. Your daughter, Abigail Palmer, would I be able to have a word with her? It’s about her husband.” Pause. “Okay. Okay, call me back.”_

 

_“Hello again, sir.” Pause. “You can’t reach her? Out of town? That’s odd. Okay, thanks anyway. Please keep me updated. Bye.”_

 

_“Hello Chris. Hi, it’s Auston Matthews--don’t hang up. I have to talk to you about Mitch. Where is he?” Pause. “If you’re lying to me--“ Pause. “I’m coming over anyway. See you soon. Don’t leave town.”_

 

Click.

 

“No word from the brother?” he guessed, but it came as no surprise. From what word was passed down the grapevine Chris was nothing but a dirty coward that would do anything to save his own skin. If he wasn’t talking, it was unlikely he knew anything. Another loose end tied.

Auston was throwing his suit jacket on the bed, throwing open the remaining drawers on the top of the console and retrieving leisure clothes. “Says he hasn’t talked to Mitch since he last called. It can go either fucking way with him, but I’m not taking a chance.”

“Do you really think he’s hiding him?”

“No, but I think he’ll talk if we rough him up a bit. And if not, well, he’ll make a good honeytrap. Mitch might cough up a thing or to if he thinks we’ll kill his brother.” Auston’s featured momentarily smoothed over as he spoke. He cast a forlorn look at Mitch’s phone, still sitting in his pocket.

But then Auston was throwing off his suit jacket, tugging on something more casual as he made his way towards front archway and the elevator it contained. Zach was only able to intercept him half-way, confusion painting his features.

“Wait, are you leaving? What about the dinner tonight?” he asked, trying to steer Auston back. They had a lot of money riding on his night and the conclusion that everything would go to plan.

Auston shrugged him off, shooting him a tiny glare. “Call Dermott and ask him to reschedule and if not, send someone in my place. This is more important.” He punched a number combination into the safe underneath the shoe rack and retrieved his pistol alongside a wad of cash, half Canadian, half American.

“Are you sure about London though? It sounds like a convenient out.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but I don’t really know where they are,” Auston said, stuffing some of the currency into his mouth as his hands worked to sheath his gun into his belt buckle. He spat the bills out and continued, “that’s the problem: I don’t know. So, what’s the point of me just standing around doing nothing? Besides, I have other business to take care of.”

“Espionage?”

Auston rolled his shoulders back, the muscles popping. He looked absolutely debauched with fury. “A little this and a little that. I’m not going to go backpacking until I know where he is. They wouldn’t have gone far.” Zach went to object that time was of the essence, but Auston was determined, voice steadily becoming more hoarse. “Look, Abby's pregnant, and she’s going to give birth soon. They wouldn’t go on the run. They’d go somewhere safe. And Martin’s only home is New York.”

Zach groaned, following Auston hot on his trail to the elevator doors. “Fuck. So we’re dealing with a breach of information too. Going to have to put a halt on all the work we’re doing here. Do you want me to talk to Gibson? He’s finally working his way up the ranks in New York. If you think they would’ve, y’know--”

“If he thinks he can run to America and be gone with it he’s sorely mistaken,” Auston muttered to himself. He was wiping his palms on his dress pants, laptop bag by the door swiped up as he made a mad dash out. “I’ll fucking find him.”

“Mitch?” he felt compelled to ask.

“Marty,” was the reply. Auston swiped the elevator card and stalked in, back hooked like a fishing rod. Zach followed, obedient. “Mitch wouldn't do something like this to me. I know him. He's shy and he can take risks but Matt’s been egging him on and I didn't do any-fucking-thing about it.”

“Hey,” he said, trying to console him. “You're right, we’ll find him. He’ll be back. We have contacts all across North America. There's nowhere they can go where there won't be gangs that know us.”

“I know,” Auston said, solemnly. “That's exactly what I'm afraid of.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally called "Auston calls all of his good friends and yells at them" because if this isn't the most boring chapter of the story. It gets better, promise. I should have the story updated in two weeks time because at the moment I'm juggling online exams.


	2. October 18, 2026

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't expecting there to be so much time between updates, but life can be surprising sometimes. Anyways, I will hopefully have this story done by the end of summer. Currently going through a period where I'm debating how much time I should put into the story; that insecure hump when you're not sure if you want to go through with it. Either way, I'll be sure to have more content up and running in the coming weeks. Love y'all. :]

**October 18, 2026**

The night before, he’d woken up in a cold sweat.

His dreams were becoming slowly more detailed, until he could feel the fingernails picking off the crusted blood on his knuckles, the metallic taste swirling on his tongue as his attacker knocked out his teeth. He’d had the liberty of curling into his wife’s side, placing his head on top of her breast and listening to her heart drum like it was his lifeline.  She’d had her fair share of fitful periods of sleep, but the difference between them was that it was not her own doing that provoked them, but instead, her ties to Matt that had planted her deep in the soil of a toxic organization destined to rip their throats out and leave them bleeding on the sidewalk. The guilt burned the back of his tongue like acid.

It was time.

They’d circled the date, packed canned food in advance, and got the paperwork ready. Said their goodbyes and purposely left out details to their employers, for Abby the agency, for Matt, Auston. Because if any truth slinked underneath the door, he’d be crucified before he ever got to hold his daughter. Or son. Or--who cares, just their child. To slobber over the relinquish of duty and freedom would be done with a pillow over his head and a silencer cocked and ready to fire.

But until then, his one responsibility beyond her was Mitch, who he’d left yesterday evening with a quirked eyebrow and pained smiles as the only indicators as to his inner misery. It’d taken months, meticulous coercion, and finally subtle manipulation to bend him out of the tight bind Auston had forged, until he was back to looking at his bedroom walls with contempt, questioning why the knife drawer was locked and why he couldn’t buy his own preferred brand of shampoo.

Matt had scrubbed at him, put in elbow grease, until finally, the kid’s original personality shone through. Or at least, what he suspected the kid occupied before he got tied up in the mob. Matt could attest to that; he remembered being a car mechanic. Entering and winning competitions in the United States designated to get kids excited about going into apprenticeships or picking up trades and curbing that enthusiasm to something greater.

All it takes is one bad decision, one charismatic individual and falling on some hard times to snake charm you into a cause that was lined with malign intent. It wasn’t fair, not to him, and especially not to Mitch, who still fit in the confines of being a kid because of his age partially out of spite, because regardless of what Auston Matthews could attribute his success to, no twenty-something kid should have his own office or money hidden behind his ears. Or a fucking concubine locked up behind his elevator doors like some medieval prize to be won and frolicked with.

Something about that resonated deep and he couldn’t discover where it had lodged and tear it out, not until he was storming into the apartment complex just as Auston was leaving with the pure intention of ripping that kid’s life to shreds and saving the innocent bystander that was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He didn’t care that he lacked the inconspicuous nature they’d agreed on--he’d put up for this for much too long.

“Go, c’mon, go. The more time on the road the better,” Matt choked out, the millisecond the elevator shaft cranked. Mitch had poked his head out of the bedroom door, hair still damp from an early shower. Matt goaded him on, spiked on adrenaline.

When he swung open the bedroom door Mitch was shovelling various clothing articles into his duffle bag by the handful, not taking the time to pick out outfits or belongings of him that he may admire more than others. He threw the duffle at Matt, only stopping to pause inside the washroom and retrieve his toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste, mouthwash, and deodorant that was absolutely vital for a few days or so spent moving around. Worst comes to worse, Matt could always loan his razor and shaving cream.

Mitch’s next destination was the fridge, inside filled Tupperware containers that had fruit, granola, and snacks that could be easily placed inside a plastic bag and disguised. The premeditation was admirable, he wasn’t playing around. This was just as much about him freeing himself from a toxic relationship as it was Matt and Abby creating a new life for themselves outside of the constant gang and mob activity.

From there, the rest was easy. Obvious things were shoved into Mitch’s backpack and the duffle bag slung over Matt’s shoulder. Mitch cleaned up the evidence remaining on the counter with a blue washcloth, meticulously slotting the white dishes in the drying rack and closing the cabinets to make it look as if no one had been messing around the apartment.

It was either that or they feigned a robbery, and he didn’t doubt Auston had the police on call for suspicious activity. It would only serve to infuriate him more if they smashed his living quarters to pieces, as much as Matt may like to do that.

The final act, the equivalent of striking a match and dropping it into kindling, was Mitch throwing his slate-gray phone to the bed upon returning to the bedroom to grab his wallet and family photographs likely thrifted from his old place.

“I can’t take it with me,” he explained, as they exited, shutting the door behind them. “Auston can track the pings and where I’m getting service. It’s easier to just leave it.” Matt couldn’t agree more and ruffled his hair. It came off as a bit weak, in the face of adversity.

“Good thinking, kid.” And Mitch wasn’t a kid. He was very much a full-on adult that could make his own decisions. But imagining his child in Mitch’s shoes, young and full of life and being kept on display for a sociopath made doing all this easier. It made Matt want to stop at nothing to ensure that Mitch made it across the border and to a land of opportunity.

They entered the elevator shaft with his belongings, crossing their fingers that since they were leaving after the morning rush that no one would use the elevator and spot them. Luckily, no witnesses trickled in, and keeping their heads down meant, for the most part, that they could avoid suspicion from security cameras, as well as a trail that Auston could follow. They skirted around the receptionist at the lobby and snuck out one of the side doors attached to the residential cafe, piling in Matt’s SUV and revving up the engine as soon as humanly possible.

Mitch threw his bags in the back, stacking the red containers on the back seat where he could access them mid-drive. Matt, on the other hand, waited for oncoming traffic to slow so that he could pull out and drive straight through the green light on a navigational route home. He was borderline speeding, but he couldn’t help it. Whenever he closed his eyes he was back at home, watching, gagged, as Auston took a cattle prod to his wife and child.

It made him want to be sick, but he forewent his disgust to check his rear view mirrors and make sure they wouldn’t get into a collision before they even found her. Getting pulled over or out of a ditch along the highway would only aggravate problems even if they managed to falsify a cover story they could spoon-feed Auston when he definitely came to the hospital to retrieve his prize.

They had a ways to commute to make it back to Matt’s shoebox-sized apartment, and the morning traffic had no obligation to adhere to their needs, so they found themselves stuck in bumper to bumper hell, road rage from the truckers in front only exacerbating problems. Matt tapped his fingers on the ridge of the steering wheel, teeth biting at the inside of his cheek as he peaked back at Mitch from his rear-view mirror. The man was sitting rigidly, own front teeth embedded in his right pointer fingernail and tugging back until Matt swore he could see the blood bubbling up from underneath.

“Stop it,” he hissed. Mitch looked up, wide-eyed, like a doe spooked.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, shoving his hands into his front hoodie pocket to keep them out of sight. For the remainder of the ride he bit his tongue and looked out the back seat’s window, which normally would have worried Matt. Mitch was always talking, blabbering on about instrumental little topics until the cows come home. But at the time he was directing all his energy towards ensuring he got to his wife before any more damage could be done to try and scratch at Mitch’s scabs.

He knew it would be hard for the kid. That Auston was a solid brick wall and has his way around people and could lie with a knife in his teeth. He was the lifeblood of so many illegal operations and had every wrinkled old man wrapped around his finger--had been sweet-talking to Mitch about overthrowing Babcock and placing him down on the desk chair to look over what would be _their_ kingdom. And this would be striking the match to the powder keg.

But the difference was that it was necessary. It had to be done. He just didn’t want to stick around for the climax when he smashed the glass table in two and scratched his fingers across Matt’s records. It was absolutely essential they leave now, and unknowingly his foot pressed the pedal harder, zig-zagging in and out of cars, riding in the left lane when they skirted onto the highway to get to Mississauga as soon as possible.

Occasionally, he would look back to see Mitch grabbing the edge of the seat, still tracing the cars outside the window with his pupils. Make no mistake, the kid was shaking, trembling like a leaf in a rainstorm. The thoughts in his head were likely moving faster than the minivans and trucks soaring across the paved highway with grace. There was nothing that came to mind that would suffice as helpful at that moment--they’d already talked beforehand. Talked for hours at a time just discussing the commitment to the mission. Everything that could be said had been said.

Eventually, the tense, quiet drive pulled to a close, the first of many highway exits their salvation. The roads became steadily more familiar, greenery popping up among the cracks in the cement. Trees were growing, small businesses taking priority down the slanted hills and progressing recreational parks biting into the buildings.

He’d never been happier to pull into his designated parking spot, and no sooner had he parked the car had Abby sprinted out of the lobby, her own duffle bag swinging against her side. She didn’t bother checking in with the landlord--they’d already gutted the apartment--and Jax was then pushing the door open trailing after her, moving much slower on his legs with age. Abby ran around to where Matt had opened the trunk and tossed the bags in, waving at Mitch and making room for Jax to lift himself up into the back seat and into the rug laid out to protect the leather seats.

Tongue lolled out, Jax’s first response was to crane his head over the skin of the seat and ask for pets from Mitch, who obliged. Matt hoped it did something to soothe the both of them. After all, Mitch’s eyes were still bloodshot and his hair frazzled, jumping off his scalp in every direction because of the stress. The only action the kid could perform with certainty was rubbing little circles into the base of Jax’s skull where his ears had flopped over.

Abby climbed into the passenger, her first response to kiss Matt’s cheek and hold his hands in her arms, the action immediately gratifying. When she pulled away, Matt’s hands snaked up to hold her cheeks, giving himself the luxury of a few seconds to bask in her presence. She smiled back at him, the smell of perfume and flowery deodorant swirling around them and mixing with the dust particles swaying in the beams of sunlight leaking in through the windows.

“Hi,” she said, finally. He planted another kiss on her lips.

“Okay, you ready to go hon?” he said, but the answer was obvious. She’d been the one to come up with the idea of pinpointing the days on their family calendar alongside pregnancy announcements and expected dates as they counted down, mainly so that there was no way this could come as any surprise. Abby did twist around as she pulled her seatbelt on to wave at Mitch, who obliged, however quiet.

Just as they surged out of the dead-end parking lot and approached the exit to the highway, Mitch finally made a peep that startled Matt out of his sculpted facade of concentration.

Hands gripping the leather seat, he said, cautiously, “we’re not going to make it far,” under the heat of his breath. It was almost baiting, the way it was spoken, but the possibility of hesitation was the only infliction necessary to spark Matt’s fuse.

“Fuck that, we’re getting out of here,” he said, not even bothering to use his turn signal as he pulled into another lane. Behind him, the car horn blared. Mitch, red-faced and hot, scrambled to pull down his hoodie to expose the right shoulder as much as the tight collar would allow.

“Marty, my shoulder. My fucking shoulder,” he said, pointing at it, lacking any subtlety; which was hard, because the tattoo was both aggravatingly bright and eye-catching that Mitch’s droning became white noise in comparison. “People are going to know--drop me off. You two go.”

He knew he shouldn’t let that get to him--he was clearly brainwashed--but the overwhelming noise and disposition to get angry and storm the castle because they were so close and he wanted to turn back was all that was necessary to light the dynamite.

“No, Mitch, you’re coming with us!” he said, voice raised and only halting when Abby pressed her thumb into his elbow to divert his attention. Behind him, Mitch shrunk back as much as he could into the spot, like it would help camouflage him with the leather hide underneath his ass.

He sighed to himself. “Sorry--sorry Mitch, I don’t mean to yell at you. You’re not dead weight if that’s what you’re thinking. We want you with us. Fuck the shoulder tattoo.”

“But I can’t get rid of it!”

“So? Make up some spiritual meaning behind the initials. No one has to know.”

“Not that--I mean if we’re in gang territory, someone is going to tell Auston. Better I just get out now and cover your tracks for you.” One of his hands was braced on the door handle, almost as if taunting fate to unlock the door, pull it, and roll out onto the highway to salvation.

“Do you want to leave or not?” he snapped, but it was mostly to himself in that, the kid was still in a bad place and this erosion wasn’t helping.

He couldn’t understand why this was happening after he worked so hard, but some things weren't meant to be undone. Auston was a steadily tied knot in Mitch’s shoelaces; he could unspool them and tie them into pretty bows as much as he liked, but the bulb at the base of the shoe would forever dictate how he tied it. With each knot, there was less leeway to be creative, until it was just a knotted mess that could only be played with by making one big knot and by then, the shoes were a wreck.

Mitch, to his credit, fought back against the allegations, responding with an, “I do! I do. But I want you guys to be safe.”

“Mitch,” Abby began, “we are safe. You’ll be fine. So long as you’re wearing a shirt no one will know.” Her way with words and tone of voice was remarkable, as just as quickly as Mitch had assumed the defensive, he was back as the mild-mannered kid Matt had come to pick up, aloof and steadfast. The only indication of a hole in his mental defences was the fact that he had to anchor himself by patting Jax on the head again, like a kid would during storm season to take their mind off of the thunder and lightning combo.

He hoped their kid would be able to do the same. Jax was a good dog. And Mitch would be a good older brother.

After about an hour of on and off driving, stopping once or twice for excess groceries or a drive-through coffee at Tims, they pulled into a local fast food joint, belonging to a company brand that served the local crowd by day and drunk high schoolers by night. A Duty Free stood tall in the distance, vehicles backed up across the border crossing where they were being meticulously questioned and egged through, up into what was once called the land of opportunity.

Gangs and mob activity had taken many things, but the assumption that a country and its government operated with the best interest of the people at heart was the greatest theft. He couldn’t look at America without looking down and seeing a perfect rendition of his bloody hands; the cries from hostages they took with money as a primary motivation and the chorus of gunshots overriding the anthems blared from loudspeakers.

He took the opportunity to open the door and stretch his legs out, sucking in the cold air to stop himself from going dizzy with delirium. The other passengers made their own rounds, Abby popping a few packed blueberries into her mouth and Mitch turning over to check on the condition of Jax. It was still morning and the rush had made its way up the highway, patrons flocking in and out of the coffee joint across the road. There was not a place close by that didn’t have people loitering--smoking cigarettes or chatting amongst themselves with a black coffee in one hand.

It was enough to get his suspicions poking at him, and before anyone else could get out of the vehicle he slid back in, leaving the wide parking space countering the drive-through behind and reversing into one of the corner lots until he was sure the rubbish bins gave enough pretense and cover to facilitate what they were about to do.

“Okay,” he said, exhaling. “Okay. Mitch, you ready?” He craned his head around, meeting Mitch’s eyes. He made a gesture outside, and Mitch pulled away from his eyes to stare down into his lap.

“Sure,” he mumbled, and he pulled the handle to swing the car door open, nearly hitting the garbage bins that they were parked beside. Abby shot him a questioning look.

“Wait, what are we doing?’ she asked.

“Passport,” Matt replied. Rooting around through the glovebox to retrieve his documents. “Auston has Mitch’s, so we can’t cross the border with him in sight.”

“So what are we doing? Locking him in the trunk?” Matt didn’t reply, letting the quiet speak for itself. Abby looked crestfallen.

“Matt, no.” Her voice was shot.

“We don’t have another option, okay?” His hands stopped gripping the wheel, flying up in exasperation. “Either we put him in the trunk or we don’t leave at all.”

“And what if they search the trunk?”

“They won’t.” He thumbed at the collection of paper and the black leather cover of the passports. “There’s nothing out of order with our documents. I have a work permit for the States, so it looks like we’re headed back for a little visit. They’re not going to see anything out of the ordinary.” Abby looked ready to continuing protesting, but Matt was out before he could begin to feel the sorrow pricking at the edge of his conscience again.

Mitch was lingering around the push open trunk, waiting for Matt to unlock it and shove the luggage around to make a plausible crypt for him. Mitch gulped, prompting Matt to hook an arm around his shoulder and pull him close.

“You alright?” he asked, though he was sure Mitch was fine, just frazzled. Mitch steadied himself with one hand on the bumper, nodding at Matt before hoisting himself over and in. Even though he was small, it was still claustrophobic watching him curl up in the car trunk, despite his best efforts his neck still having to bend to make room as his legs pressed in to tuck against the opposite side.

Mitch looked up at him, gesturing at the hood of the trunk. “You going to close it?”

“You sure you’re alright with this?” Mitch broke his serious facade there, letting loose a nervous chuckle that permeated in the seat of his being.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Did this all the time back in London. Close the trunk Marty.” And Matt obliged, catching one last look at the shadows falling over Mitch before the trunk locked closed. He turned the corner around the bumper and resumed his position in the driver’s seat, mindful of the man crammed in with their luggage and short of air. Time was of the essence.

He hit the gas.

 

**February 9, 2026**

Of all his random influx of employers, Auston was probably the most predictable and easy to work with.

He wasn’t one to pull him aside with random assignments, so the summon that morning that interfered with his predetermined schedule for the day came as a surprise; that being an understatement. Because Toronto was a big city, and there needed to be tons of muscle spread evenly around to get work done. Auston was an office-recluse that was more attached to his computer screen and paperwork than he was the idea of flirting with their competition down in Ottawa. This taking priority? It was simply out of the question.

Nevertheless, he put on a brave face, knocking on the door twice just to be courteous and then entering when he heard the gruff reply gradually seep through the doorway. Only then did he take the acceptance for what it was and cordially enter, shutting the door behind him quietly. The blinds were drawn.

“Hey Matts, what’s kicking?” he said, swaggering into the room with a smirk plastered on his face, expecting the same informal attitude and feeling drenched when Auston didn’t budge. Not that Auston was typically the mild-mannered, down-to-earth boss but he had a time and place for his humour. This clearly wasn’t one of them.

The first thing he envisioned was a report or complaint filed against him, but if so Auston would have no reason to call him down to his office post and fill him in.  It was a waste of energy and everyone’s time. No, this had to be something unrelated.

He wished he had a pack of gum to chew at that moment in time. He was craving an e-cigarette to twidle between his fingers and take a long drag from, just to give himself someone else to do.

“No need to call me Matts, just sit down,” he said, with all the false pretence of a man two times his age. He was a toddler parading in suits and blazers and yet, Matt was abiding like a collared pet, more inclined to keep his job than voice his opinion in a shifting industry.

“I have a special assignment for you that I think you might be interested in, but if you agree, I need you to promise to keep it confidential,” he said, once Matt had settled in the plush office chair provided.

“What’s the assignment?” he obliged, genuinely curious about what Matts had pulled out of his hat and given to him out of the blue.

“It’s personal,” was all he said, stacking the paper up against the desk and tapping them against the desk to align them.

“Okay.”

“I’m flying over to Switzerland for a week to discuss what to do about us running a loss on premiums and how we’re going to run property insurance. Europe has much stricter guidelines for insurance fraud and the whole underground in general outside of select countries so I need to be there in person. During that time, I won’t have anyone over at the apartment to look after Mitch. I’m asking you to stay at my apartment for the week and supervise him for me while I’m gone.” Matt blinked, running the name through his internal database.

Then it came to him; the mention of the dinner earlier on. The assignment that night; the one with the restaurant. The name _Mitch_ was sprinkled around the office then and there but it was never official until the agreement that he would chaperone Auston on a personal meeting, something entirely unrelated but paid well enough for his time that he didn’t mind coming home late. This was Auston’s new boy toy, the one he prided himself so much on that he had a photograph in his office like some of the resident parents would their children. Except it was his _boyfriend_.

“I’m not a nanny, I’m sure he can take care of himself,” he replied. Auston didn’t move, but he did look noticeably uncomfortable then and there, like he was sorting through his vocabulary to find the right words to answer him with.

Auston didn’t look impressed. “This isn’t a babysitting service, you’re hired muscle.”

“Exactly, which is why, no offence, I don’t see why I’m being asked to do this.”

“I need to leave him with someone I can trust, someone that won’t take advantage of the situation. And I’d be willing to double payroll if that helps.” Matt hadn’t even met the kid, let alone been in the same room as him to assess the situation. If Auston was going to go through this much trouble, it must be an absolute nightmare to wrangle the little shit.

He looked away, one hand reaching up to scratch at an itch in his forehead. “I mean, I’m in no position to say no, but I still don’t know why you want me to do it.”

“Precautionary. Now I have a few requirements to go over before you sign. Just so you know the do’s and don'ts. I outlined them on this,” and he honest-to-God handed Matt a twelve point font, single-spaced list that looked as professional as a could be, “and they should be easy enough to follow, but if you have any questions I’d prefer you go over them with me now.”

It was a lot of writing to go over, especially under the scrutiny of Auston’s judgemental look. A quick scan revealed potentially troubling information, including, but not limited to, restrictions on food, location, and even the type of media he could be exposed to. It was the kind of shit you wrote up when your friend was looking after your pet turtle, not another human being.

“Matthews?” he asked, hesitant to bring up the issue but more willing to override his growing confusion. Auston looked eager to meet his curious look, nodding before he’d even finished speaking.

“What’s with--this? I’m confused,” he said, flipping the paper over despite it not being double-sided, wondering if there could be a sticky note or written explanation to provide clarity.

“Your instructions. If you cannot comply, then I ask that you deny the assignment.”

Matt tugged his bottom lip in, feeling the pulse in his neck thump dramatically. “No, I can do this. It’s just, why go through all the trouble? Surely he can take care of himself. He’s an adult.”

Matt was pretty sure an adult should have leverage over what television channels they could watch or the rooms they entered. An adult could decide what food they wanted to eat and what they could look up on their phone at what time of the day. There were only a few outcomes that would help the scenario make more sense, and none of them were very positive.

“You don’t understand. Mitchy needs someone there with him. Not because of groceries, but also because there needs to be someone. He can’t live on his own.” Matt put the papers down in front of him on the mahogany desk, his initial reading of the situation changing.

“Is he some kind of prisoner?” he guessed, innocent enough. But even with his best intentions at heart, Auston still straightened at the suggestion, fingers cracking.

“He’s not a prisoner,” he said. “He’s just a bit unsure. Mental illness.” He didn’t elaborate further, but he didn’t have to. Matt gaped on, because while that made sense, it also made him look like an idiot.

“Oh.” He scurried to find the words to explain himself. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound insensitive.” The utter unprofessionalism he used was almost daunting. He wanted to smack himself in the face until his nose bled.

“It’s okay,” Auston assure him, one hand up. “Back to the topic at hand. Read that over. Let me know by the end of the day. I leave a little early to go pick up a suit so you’ll need to have an answer by four. You have my cell, yes?” Matt nodded, it was definitely buried somewhere in his contact list after their last endeavour down by the company warehouse.

Auston stood without saying another word, moving around the desk and making a beeline for the closed office door as Matt was left to speculate at the document layered in his hands. The tempting but somewhat vague and impersonal offer that was almost too good to be true. He could use the extra pocket change, surely, but at the same time, he had no idea what he was getting into.

“Oh and Matt,” Auston said, one hand on the cold handle’s metal. “Don’t tell anyone else about this. This is off-record work. A you and me kind of thing. I’m trusting you to keep it that way.”

“Don’t worry, I understand it’s confidential, just like the meeting today. I’ll read this over and be back by lunch, if that’s alright with you.”

Something in his gut churned with how easy it escaped his mouth, but Abby was coming along and this investment in Toronto had yet to pay off. Whatever money he could stash away and use to better their living standards was a commodity he couldn’t afford to be picky about. That, and he’d be stupid to decline when the opportunity sat in his lap and made itself comfortable.

Auston looked happy enough with his answer, grabbing him by the hip before he departed to ask him to wear his best attire that night (which, don’t get him wrong, was probably a vest and button-up since he didn’t have access to the frivolous little things Auston and his coworkers could deck themselves out in).

“I want to treat him to something nice.” The smile on his face looked unperturbed, but there was something deeper inside that had a spec of malice clouding the soul. “He expects a lot from me. I hope you don’t mind.”

Ignoring the fact that they were struggling to pay rent and put food on the table in this God-forsaken city, it was easy to smile and say, “okay.”

What a brat.


	3. October 18, 2026

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you SO much for your patience guys. the rest of the story is planned and has some scaffolding so it shouldn't be such a gap between postings. this chapter has only been proofed by me during work, so i'll go back and do another read once it's out of my system  
> lots of love you y'all. thanks as always for your wonderful comments. :]

**October 18, 2026**

It was a long, gruelling road trip with minimal stops, so by the time they pulled into the city grounds his legs were petrified.

He swore he’d run the gas pedal into the ground with how hard he was pressing it, speeding in the left lane at all times and crossing over the dotted lines to pass people so he could pick up speed. Once he got momentum, it wasn’t hard to block out distractions. Abby had put in a CD, one of those the ancient things she still carried around in a pouch, and it contained a podcast about the nicest houses in America. Nothing but idealistic fluff, like a trip through Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.

Time to time, she’d point out features she’d like in their house. A nice fireplace for the winter (yeah, no), an open concept kitchen and large glass windows that would be a bitch to clean. He’d nod along and chime in his own suggestions every once in a while, much to her delight. Contrary to belief, he wasn't angry with her, just tense. Normally, they'd be singing along to some rickety country album, enjoying their time together. This was entirely different.

He didn’t try to avoid checking the rear-view mirror, but it was hard to lock eyes with Mitch and make sense of the barrage of thoughts storming the kid’s mind. He slept for about four hours of the eight-hour trip, ate only once and even then it was a box of smarties Abby had bought him from the convenience store.

Mitch said he wasn’t hungry but nauseous was probably more like it. The kid was probably much too concerned with conjuring up the many ways he’d be punished for his act of defiance to appreciate the little freedom he had. Matt pitied him; Auston had left scars that were impossible to heal. He could cake them with all the love and affection he had to give and they would always exist underneath.

To never feel safe; it must be terrifying.

 

New York remained just as much an architectural accomplishment as it was when he’d left three years back to work in Toronto. It cradled historic monuments, towering skyscrapers, shopping districts, and marvels. It also captured the worst of humanity in various slums and dirtied street corners where homeless flocked to open vents in hopes it would give them relief from the oncoming cold.

The Islanders had put them up with a temporary housing arrangement because if Toronto was ridiculously expensive, New York bordered on insane. The space they were given wasn’t what he'd call cramped; there was a one bedroom with a “walk-in”, which was really just a closet hanging overtop the mattress that ate up about seventy-five percent of the room. _Claustrophobic_ was more like it.

Abby ended up getting her open concept kitchen, except it consisted of a fridge, grimy stove, one cabinet, and small round table with two lawn chairs set up. A dingy, plaid-clad couch and worn armchair were the only things inhabiting the living room besides for the archaic television set and a single outlet. The only window showed a street notorious for gang activity, with people scurrying in and out of alleyways every other second.

“Well, it’s not exactly as we hoped,” Matt tried to rationalize, “but it’s a start. We won’t be staying here permanently.” Abby's shoulders were still sagging despite her best efforts to be happy, Mitch not looking much better.

Mitch dumped his duffle on the couch and pulled out a pillow he’d squashed underneath his pairs of boxers and undershirts. Wordlessly, he placed it at one end of the couch, moving almost mechanically. Matt approached him like he would a timid animal.

“Hey, you don’t mind doing this, right?” Mitch looked up startled, even though there was nothing to be scared of.

“Yeah.” He shook his head frantically. “Yeah. Just need to settle in.”

“I know it’s not perfect but hey, no Auston. That’s something, right?” He tried to laugh it off with Mitch, but the kid had frozen up.

“I guess,” his voice wavered. “My back’s going to have to get used to not having memory foam. I--well it’s stupid, but I still feel like I shouldn’t be here though.”

“Hey,” Matt sat down beside him. “You’re family. Of course you belong with us.”

Mitch squeezed his eyes shut. “Auston will find you. Just like how he found me before. I don’t want to risk the baby.”

“You aren’t risking the baby and if I thought you were, I would’ve told you. You have to let go of Auston,” Matt said, voice stiff.

Rubbing his eyes, Mitch gave off the expression that he'd been crying. “I can’t. I miss him,” he stressed, teeth chattering. “And I know he’s going to follow me. He’s always been there. I kind of--don’t know how to function without him. Even when I was with Olivia, he was a side piece. I wasn’t strong enough to say no; to push him away.”

Mitch’s hands were creating very real heat with the friction caused by rubbing his hands together. It was disturbing, watching him unravel like this. It’d been only a day.

Abby said he’d still be feeling attachment but it was ridiculous to him. To love someone so clearly entitled and evil at heart. It translated into his replies whether intended or not.

He raked a hand back through his hair, taking a step back as he absorbed the information. “Fuck, Mitchy. Did you ever try to take a restraining order out against him? If you knew he was following you--”

“I didn’t have the grounds, besides, I didn’t even have proof that he was following me. Just the suspicion. That doesn’t hold up in court.” It was unmentioned the additional costs of doing something like that, a very real obstacle of its time. Knowing Matthews was a secondary provider didn’t help, because who would pay their boyfriend to take a restraining order out against them?

“You had to do something,” he said, unable to accept the inevitable concept of the power struggle in the relationship--that it was deep set one way and unable to change despite his best efforts.

“I thought I did. I met him in person, we talked, and it looked like he understood. I even texted him the day after to make sure he knew we were over. How was I supposed to know it would escalate to this?”

“To be fair, he is a mob boss in training.”

Mitch slumped over, head cushioned by the couch, but not by much. He looked like a miserable lump of skin. “But when I met him he was just a rookie, and I was just some fucking escort shacking up to make London deals. He was the first guy to treat me with some respect--to give me hope.”

“He kidnapped you. He isolated you. He abused you--“ Matt listed off.

Stung, Mitch squirmed away, tucking his knees up so that his chin was obscured. “He did not abuse me.”

“No, Mitch--see, he loves you like how a child loves their favourite toy. It’s not lasting, it’s fundamentally flawed from the roots.” Mitch was listening, his neck was craned, but his skin was a pasty-white and he was trembling. Matt kneeled before him, pulling Mitch’s knees back so that he could creep up on him.

“Let me tell you something Abby told me when I was in your situation.”

Though his head didn’t move, Mitch’s eyes slid up. “You’ve been kidnapped?”

Matt winced. “Well--not exactly, but I used to be in violent crime wars. All the time. Bruised my knuckles so often I had to get surgery done on my left hand. It’s no laughing matter. I met Abby because she was supposed to rehabilitate me and she told me something that changed my life.”

“And what’s that?”

“Loyalty isn’t supposed to take, take, and take. An agreement, a friendship, a bond between yourself and something else should never come at your expense. Your relationship with Matthews isn’t mutual. He gets everything and you get nothing.”

“That’s not true, he bought me stuff. He took me places.” He didn’t sound convinced with anything he said, like he was regurgitating something entirely foreign.

“Think of it like this. You’re a patch of flowers Mitch.” Matt held his hand up before Mitch could interject. “Beautiful, colourful flowers out in the wild, just growing, doing your thing. Auston is the guy that sees the flowers and thinks to himself ‘those are beautiful, I want to have them for myself.’ So he uproots you from your life and takes you home and he puts you in water; he gives you the bare essentials for life, but you wither. You wither because you’re not supposed to be an ornament on display, because you're a human being. You like what he gave you because it’s what you need but it’s not what you deserve. You deserve a good life, free from all this bullshit.”

“That’s a really stupid analogy.”

“But it works, right?” He patted Mitch’s knee. “I know it’s hard. It’s always going to be hard. But you have to give yourself a chance to heal. You never have to do anything you don’t want to again.

There was a knock at the front door just as his talk pulled to a close. He stood alert almost immediately, fearing the worst, and mouthed for Mitch to stand back as he dismantled whoever had shown up on their doormat.

He checked the peephole before throwing the door open to a random stranger, almost gasping when three familiar faces glowered up at him. He could spot at least one orange and blue tattoo on a neck and combed-back hair all too telling of a certain dress code.

Although he didn’t throw the door open, he did his best impression of a scorned best friend finding old company and held his arms out. Ryan Strome was the first to step forward and actually honest-to-God hug him, the guy evidently having grown into his shoes and sprouting in height. Now, he overpowered Matt. The other two hung back and watched with wide smiles that made them look moon-faced.

Thomas Hickey, bless his soul, looked out of it. Cal wasn’t much better. They weren’t going to try and hug him anytime soon. That eliminated the possibility of them vomiting on his only pair of shoes too.

“Marty Matts whassup?” Thomas slurred, probably half drunk and half hungover from the night before. He slapped Matt on the shoulder and ducked in close. “How’s my favourite goon?”

“Surviving,” he answered plainly. Ryan’s friendly face pulled away, two arms holding Matt at bay. “How did you--”

“Housewarming present,” Ryan substituted. “Good to see you here.”

“I didn’t know you were back in New York.”

Ryan smiled, thin-lipped and emotionless. “Well, I wanted a change of scenery. And uh, JT.” He broke away to gesture at the bags littering the mouth of the doorway. “I hope the driving wasn’t too asking.”

Matt decided to ignore the conversation whiplash and nodded along. “Nah. I didn’t think we’d be tracked down so it was just the long hours. We just need to get some of this stuff in the hall, if you want to help”

“Sure can, old man,” Ryan teased. “CC, can you get the stuff from the trunk?”

Mind blanking, he worked to remember if by chance there was something left behind. He couldn’t conjure anything big enough to justify them going back, responding with a simple “we’ve, uh, already cleared it.”

“JT wanted to send a little calling card for you. Says he’s happy his old friend is back in town, and he’s not the only one.” That alone, was evident.

“You and he talk a lot?”

“Only all the time,” Thomas butt in. “Little lovebirds.”

“Whaaaat?” Matt did a double take between Thomas and Ryan, mouth wide open like he’d been trying to catch flies. “You and JT? I mean, I know he fancied you but--” He couldn’t resist poking fun.

“It’s nothing.” Ryan let his bangs shield his eyes quick to intervene before it escalated. “He does the big work, I do my small work. He’s nice to me. It’s nothing else.” His elbow butt into Thomas’ side until he complained, though Ryan never broke the facade of excellence and poise.

Thomas sniggered, leaning in close as to Matt one hand rubbed at where Ryan had jabbed him. “Everyone says he’s going to be mob queen. JT’s gonna whisk him off his feet and have a nice big wedding. You’re invited.”

Matt laughed, but for a reason he couldn't place, he felt sick. Something didn’t sit right. Ryan was smiling and his head was raised, but it didn’t reach his face. Then he realized, oh _God_. The illusion of grandeur, pinched expression, discomfort from the topic of JT. That, and the years of working for the Islanders culminated in a grand epiphany.

He was looking at another Mitch.

Tavares, for one, was never quiet about his affairs, not ever. If he was lusting after another warm body he’d announce it over the bar, tongue loose with alcohol. Ryan was just another one of those beauties he’d kept on his hip, but in public it never transcended friendship. Or so he thought. Now, he was older and a heck of a lot smarter. Also, he’d looked after a so-called mob wife for nearly a year. The signs were obvious.

This was yet kid caught up in something way bigger than expected. Except, this wasn’t Auston Matthews, university wonderkid but a--for the most part--down-to-earth guy that had some dosage of reality. Tavares, on the other hand had been in the business for years and could be absolutely ruthless when he wanted to be. Matt had been witness to that on multiple occasions.

Like film, he replayed the situations leading up to eventual return, now able to recognize the signs that weren’t there before, the looks. When they moved in together it did raise some questions about familiarity but nothing beyond little tests of patience here and there. Tavares always came off as a mentor. Probably just like how Auston came off as a college boyfriend. The perfect persona to play.

There was no telling what he’d do to a kid like Ryan. Probably eat him alive.

He wanted to console Ryan, erase his attempts at lightening the mood earlier because of how inconsiderate they were, but speak of the devil, Mitch had moved in close behind him and was waving at the other Islanders like they were old friends of his. It didn’t matter that he’d been moved to tears not five minutes ago. As always, he was putting on a pretty face to mask his emotional turmoil with the grace of an actor twice his age.

Cal and Thomas moved on to finish tugging in some of the equipment Matt hadn’t bothered with in the main hall, but Ryan hung around, moving in on Mitch with a brittleness that was so unbecoming of his large frame.

“Feel good to be across the border?” was what came out of Ryan’s mouth first. No introduction necessary.

Scratching at the side of his face, Mitch played along. “It’s definitely different. I'm used to crossing over into Michigan.”

“Detroit?” Ryan guessed, answer empty.

Mitch nodded. “They paid us well to be their suppliers. So did Brampton, so it was a bit of a back and forth.”

“Well. Nice seeing you here. Heard from up there that you were knee-deep in Toronto. From the sounds of it, it's Matthews too. He’s made a splash over here, that’s for sure. Looks like he’s already taking his responsibilities and spoils with stride.”

“He’s uh, well, rising up the ranks. Or, well, was,” Mitch stumbled. He looked sad. “Had to leave him behind. Start a new life, that kind of thing.”

Ryan looked immediately concerned with the turn of events. He nosed at Mitch’s long sleeved shirt, peeling the collar back until the markings of the tattoo showed blatantly through. At the grand reveal, it looked as though Ryan could only offer weak resignment.

“Be careful Mitchy, they’re not quitters,” was his only precaution.

Mitch looked him head-on. “I know. Looks like you joined the party.”

Ryan huffed. “Takes one to know one.” He patted Mitch’s arm twice. “Look lively Marner, it's good to see you.”

“Yeah.” Mitch pressed his lips together to hide what Matt knew was his teeth digging into the skin of his inner cheek. “Tell Dylan I said hi.”

If Matt didn’t feel like he was intruding on something personal beforehand, that would throw him out of the park. In truth, it didn’t matter that one lived in Toronto and the other New York, that one loved a younger man and the other older, or that one was going clean while the other was pitch black. There was something mutual between him that made his saliva turn sour.

It was hard to overlook the agreement the two had reached in their eyes, so much so that he called it quits for an early night once all the remaining furniture had been moved in, including an extra chair for the dining room. Once there, he changed into his boxers and laid his head on the dip of Abby's chest, listening to her breathe.

She talked on and on about their kid; it was her favourite pastime. His or her hair. If they’d own a pair of light-up Sketchers and run through the sprinkler on a hot summer day. In all honesty, it didn’t matter what she said. He was just grateful that he could experience something so committed and balanced when the world he existed in preached the absolute opposite.

 

**February 10, 2026**

He was at the scene of the apartment bright and early to catch Auston before he took off, and even _then_ he’d still battled against Toronto pedestrians and barbaric road conditions.

In his little care package of goodies that Auston had passed on, there was a parking pass, a key to unlocking their floor via the elevator, more keys of unknown description, several handwritten lists, and extra money to keep on hand for emergencies to later return; lest he face punishment. He didn't care, he had no need for such delicacies, as the paycheck for this assignment alone could keep them fat and fridge stocked for an undetermined but surely long amount of time. It was well worth entertaining Auston’s company.

Rooting through the bag given, he retrieved the gold and brown elevator key and swiped it as he pressed the number for the penthouse. He leaned back against the golden handrails as it sailed upwards, tracing the zipper of his suitcase with a single finger, parsing the fabric between the seams.

He arrived at emptiness, blinds drawn, house tidy. He stepped forward, bag rolling behind him, very much hesitant. He wasn’t sure if he should announce himself upfront or wait for further instruction, but his questions ended up answering themselves with a moan from down the hall.

Blushing crimson, Matt felt his throat constrict. Something very private was happening in the other room and he wasn’t qualified to listen in. But he didn’t want to up and leave his stuff either. He settled for sitting his bag up against the wall and taking a seat on the couch, going over his instructions again.

The chorus of sex continued for a minute or two more before the finish, and he could finally lounge back and relax without feeling like a trespasser. While he waited, he was able to admire the architecture more; now being able to see the apartment in well-lit conditions that didn't eclipse the furniture. It was very artificial; stagnant was more like it. It had plants and cute little stairs near the bar and hallway, with little design features and stories that served little purpose except to look modern, but even though it tried too hard there was something so lifeless about it.

As he was getting his affairs in order, a door opened and he jolted upright, the switch of the lock occurring way too soon after the supposed climax to be natural. When Auston reappeared, Matt nonchalantly wiped his hands on his suit pants to look more professional.

“Marty,” Auston said, voice steady. “You’re here.”

“Just arrived. Didn’t know where I should go,” he lied, shaking Auston’s hand and trying not to imagine whatever the hell they were up to before he arrived but failing miserably.

“I’ll show you to the guest bedroom; Mitch is still asleep.” Auston headed back down the hallway juxtaposing the bar counter beside the kitchen and beckoned him to follow. There were a few doors decorating the stale appearance of the wall, all of them closed.

Auston knocked on one seated to their right. small specks of light seeping in through the still. “This is our room. I’d prefer you not go in there unless you have to but there’s an ensuite and walk-in just so you know. Your room is over here.” At the end of the hall, there was one more door and what looked like a supply closet beside it.

“Fire escape,” Auston said, trying the door, although it didn’t budge. “Locked though. You have the keys. And this,” he pushed the door open, “is all yours.”

There was a good amount of clutter mucking around but it wasn’t more obscuring than the average bedroom and the bed and dressers were acceptable. It was only temporary, after all.

Auston assembled the last of his things, hustling out the door as soon as he possibly good, citing “a minor setback” as to why he was late. Matt rolled his eyes as he ushered him out, assuring him that all would be fine. The same “I know” and “okay” repeated again and again until Auston could have faith in his stride and leave them behind.

Finally, he was alone. He could take a breather and make himself some coffee as he settled in. Maybe he'd spend some time learning the ropes before he had to look after a kid all by his lonesome. Little things, like how to use the coffee machine (harder than it looked as he soon found out), which way the shower dial turned to get hot water, and what television remote did what went a long way in the big run.

It took an hour or two for the kid to get up off his ass and running again, giving Matt plenty of time to get acquainted and then some. Like some celestial being, he left the room in only a pair of boxers and a blanket acting as a shawl to cover his shoulders. Although he clearly saw Matt, he played the silent game and walked past him to open up the fridge and retrieve a carton of orange juice.

Matt sat on the barstool and waited for some inclination of what to do; whether he was to be Mitch’s shadow or try to interact was lost on him. It took for Mitch to actively nudge at his shoulder for the tense quiet to split and for them to finally look each other in the eye.

“I’m gonna make a sandwich, you hungry?” Mitch said, voice deeper than expected, even for the morning.

“No.” He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to eat on the assignment in sight of the boy. Mitch opened the fridge again, pulled out mayonnaise, lettuce, cheese, and tomato, and set them down on the marble cutting board provided. He looked up at Matt.

“Are you okay?” Mitch began cutting at the tomato with slow, even strides, but was focused mainly on Matt.

“Yeah,” he shuffled in his seat, “why?”

Mitch looked down. “Cause you’re looking at me like I’m some delinquent. It’s kinda weird dude.” He was using a butter knife to smear thick globs of mayonnaise over the surface of the bread. It was tantalizing; he hadn’t eaten breakfast.

Even though it was a weak jab, he rushed to defend himself. “Auston said to keep an eye on you. I’m just doing my job.”

Mitch screwed the lid of the mayonnaise back on. “He didn’t mean it literally. I can take care of myself.”

Matt stabilized his elbows on the counter. He hid his head in between them. “What if you have an episode?”

“An episode?” Mitch echoed, confusion tainting the recreation.

“Bipolar?” It took a second for the concept to stick with Mitch, and when it did, his expression broke. Disbelief, then a tinge of anger combined with amusement.

“What?” he laughed. “I’m not fucking bipolar dude.”

“Alright, alright.”

“Seriously,” he declined vehemently. “I’m not bipolar. I don’t know who or where you learned that from but stop.”

And there wasn’t really anything he could say to someone he’d heard having sex not even two hours ago, so he wisely kept his mouth shut and tagged along on the kid’s morning routine. He finished the breakfast he’d made, showered in the ensuite Matt wasn’t allowed in, and then loaded the dishwasher with a few cups and plates he’d collected around the apartment.

Matt tried to not leave him unsupervised--treating the kid like he would a client--but it came off as more stalker-ish than he’d hoped. Unfortunately, they both ran out of things to do to lessen the tension pretty early on. Whether it was Matt trying to sit yoga-style on the couch with him or the topic of mental illness he wasn’t sure, but Mitch was making a show of doing what would be considered everyday tasks without assistance. That extended to laundry, which was hard to respect when he walked, head down, back to Matt to ask for the keys to unlock the hidden wall separating the machines from view in the guest bathroom.

Not that he could complain--he was happy the kid was self-sufficient; it made his job easier--just, something didn’t sound right. Despite how hard he tried to keep his distance from Mitch, morbid curiosity kept dragging him back.

Later, on the evening of the first day, Mitch forgot to take his clothes out of the dryer and ended up passing out in his bedroom soon after dinner. Matt graciously stepped in, partially because he had to, and also because he wanted the opportunity to root through some of his belongings for clues. You never know what you’d come across or what things a person kept secret when they were a member of the mob.

After clearing the lint filter and dropping the flecks in the waste bin beside the sink, he meticulously pulled out the shirts and pants one by one and dropped them in an empty white laundry basket. Some of the shirts sported old band designs from the early 2000s or were noticeably worn through and old-fashioned, while others were more high-end with collared dress shirts and slim cotton shirts airing on the more business-side thrown into the mix. Alongside the ones that had to be hand washed, it added a sense of inconsistency. Mitch wasn’t draped in diamonds and pearls and that didn’t sit right considering who he was with.

Using one of Abby's improvisational laundry techniques as a crutch, he scooped up the remaining articles of clothing and took them to the living room to begin folding. Keeping the shirts with the shirts and the pants, shorts, and everything in-between together was easy enough. He had all the time in the world to work at his own pace. By eleven, he was done.

He contemplated leaving them outside the bedroom for Mitch to collect in the morning, but that seemed a bit cruel. He didn’t want them collecting dust (even if the floors were pretty much spotless) so he worked up the courage to edge the master bedroom’s door open for a quick drop off that wouldn't even count as an intrusion. It revealed a pitch-black room with nothing but the balcony lights and billboards in the distance to light the way.

The room was immaculately decorated and like something out of an interior design magazine or _IKEA_ workshop. Ebony hardwood painted the floors underneath, with only the carpet shadowing the bed being of any comfort on the feet. On the stark-white sheets was Mitch. He was sprawled out with only a pair of boxers on, huffing into the pillows with his chest pressed deep into the frame.

Like that he looked very at peace, even with the empty void beside him. Matt tried to remind himself this was something private, something he shouldn’t even touch, but walking closer, Mitch looked a lot younger. A lot more vulnerable. A lot more human.

It became too much to think about. He dropped the clothes on the dresser compound and walked out.

As the week dragged on, more things were brought to his attention, primarily that the kid never left the house. Ever. He could sort of anticipate it, with his list of instructions detailing when, where, and under what circumstances he could leave, all of which were far-fetched at best and horribly improbable at worst. In the end, he opted to ignore them. Auston was in Switzerland, why should he care?

After just a single day left confined to the pitiful space up in the penthouse, fresh air had become something of a commodity. It resulted in him unlocking and subsequently opening the patio door for a romp outside (another locked item on the list, joining the fire escape, supply closet, guest bedroom when he was not actively in it, laundry machines, and anything Auston considered dangerous, which, if Mitch wasn’t kidding around, extended to the knife drawer too). Mitch shied away when he offered to take him out, like he’d been scolded. It would’ve been funny if it didn’t bring with it horrible implications.

Relatively, Mitch was pretty normal outside of a few incidents like the one with the patio. He made his own meals with the food Matt provided, separated the whites and the colours when he did laundry, and played _Harvest Moon_ and _Pokémon Diamond_ in his downtime, remarking that they’d been games he’d never had as a kid.

He was also incredibly smart for a sugar baby. For example, one afternoon Matt quite nearly tripped over a book and picked it up to reveal _The Elements of Business_ printed in large, bolded letters on the cover. A trail led him to the couch, where Mitch was on his stomach, nose-deep into an instalment. One of Auston’s textbooks, he presumed. Mitch was able to recite most of the definitions when he asked, though with how often Matt saw him flipping to the same pages and rereading the same content over and over, that was no miracle.

He decided to conduct his own experiment, borrowing some of the pamphlets and folders from Abby's office and supplying them to Mitch on Tuesday morning when he woke up. Though Mitch clearly preferred the business models to case studies and philosophies, he did pick at what Matt brought regardless to keep himself entertained.

By Monday, Mitch was far more tolerant, no longer the skittish songbird-type he’d been going in. He was constantly looking over Matt’s shoulder or going through his stuff when he thought Matt couldn’t see him. He didn’t mind; Mitch was like his pet project. And absolutely nothing like the snotty brat he’d imagined.

Little talks escalated into full-blown conversations that walked long into the night. Over the span of several days he learned that Mitch loved dogs and used to have one called Winston (he spent the next five minutes showing him pictures of Jax on his phone), wanted a big family (went wide-eyed when Matt said he was about to start his own with Abby), and couldn’t go a day without sugar (which explained why Auston had requested he take it slow on the sweets).

But all in all, the kid was loveable to a fault. A really sweet kid who could play Monopoly for hours and make Matt laugh like it was nobody’s business. No wonder Auston was so protective; the kid enchanted everyone he met. Sill, something in the back of his head nagged at the precarious situation. He knew mob bosses had their fair share of problems; many mob leaders were perfect indications of everything that could go wrong with a relationship, and he didn’t think Auston would be any different from the stereotype.

And apart from a few weird quirks and ticks, there wasn’t a single episode or any indication that Mitch had a mental illness. Some would say that was fine and dandy and a sign of active treatment, but he also knew Mitch didn’t take any medication or exhibit identifying traits outside of general awkwardness that would pin him down as mentally ill. More and more, Auston looked less like a worried caretaker and more like, well--

More like an abuser. Again. Abby outright declared it when he showed her the documentation Auston had given him. He wasn’t really worried about confidentiality--if Auston was going to prosecute him he’d have to prove Mitch one, had a mental illness, and then two, justify when there was a twenty-something held captive in an apartment complex.

Abby had been horrified, and then crestfallen, admitting, it wasn’t the first time she’d heard of it. Mob mentality and the kidnapping culture Auston had grown up in had bleached Auston’s conscience to the point where Mitch was a plaything, and as a licensed psychiatrist, Abby could feel no pity for him. Just contempt.

Fine. He knew his power didn’t extend far. But if he was going to look after this kid for another three or so days; then he was going to make this work.

Experimenting television with Mitch was entertaining in of itself, and he found enjoyment in introducing Mitch to the many luxuries he had no clue existed, one such series being _The Office_. It’d been a show he adored as a young adult and now, into his thirties, he still found enjoyment in the stories. Still laughed at the presence of fax machines and old-fashioned printers because although the show was dated it still found a way to transcend the early twenty-first century’s grip.

Mitch was particularly invested, sitting cross-legged, neck craning up to look at the television as he stuffed his face with buttery popcorn. Every once in a while he’d glance over with a smile or make some offhand comment, but his attention was thoroughly kept. Matt smiled when he could, but was busy listing off everything for Auston to keep a record on.

He knew the guy was on his way. Auston liked to call Mitch twice a day, but that particular night he was phoning in at random intervals to keep them on edge. Matt didn’t want to be caught with his pants down, so to speak. If Auston was going to storm in, he was going to look prepared as all living hell.

 

It was easier to work with the background noise to keep him company, but he still found himself getting distracted by Mitch’s peppy little giggles. More distracting was probably the elevator, but that was something he didn’t want to acknowledge as much. Because the elevator meant almost-certainly Auston, and he’d really grown close with Mitch. Didn’t want to leave him behind because of the assignment had droned on too quickly.

Mitch was far too engrossed to pay much attention, but Auston’s presence choked the life out of the room, and it was disturbingly apparent that he was there. It took for him to kiss the top of Mitch’s head to get his eyes away from the television and even _then_ it took a second to recognize that he wasn’t hallucinating and that his boyfriend was standing there.

“Hey,” Auston said, a smile plastered across his face.

Mitch’s mouth gaped open, “Matts!” He climbed over the back of the couch to jump into his arms.

“Mitchy, oh I missed you!” Auston swung him back and forth, revelling in Mitch’s giggles and other expressions of joy. His nose was digging into Mitch’s collarbone, eyes scrunched shut to keep himself grounded in the moment of reunion.

The two were immersed in their own little world for a few minutes, rocking back and forth on their heels, faces squished together. Auston would split once or twice to peck at Mitch’s neck, but was mainly occupied with keeping his boyfriend pressed flat to him. Matt felt too awkward and unfit to intervene, so he began to pick up his belongings and make his way towards the door.

He’d packed in advance; hadn’t brought much. Auston supplied everything. But it felt like he was carrying stones at that moment in time. The bag jostled and whined around the weight, prompting Mitch to turn around and look him in the eye.

“Are you leaving Marty?” he asked, with wide eyes. It regressed him in age by a few years, changing him from a young adult to an older teenager in spades.

“Yeah, you two probably want to catch up. I’ll see you when I see you.”

Mitch gently pushed Auston away and walked over to embrace Marty. He stood frozen for a second, then reciprocated after laying his bag down, memorizing how Mitch sighed against him and stilled as if at peace. Auston watched on, abandoned on his own throne by a subordinate.

“I’ll miss you. Thanks for everything.”

“Hey, none of that.” He took a step back, forcing Mitch to look up. “You took care of yourself.”

“Still,” Mitch gritted. “Thanks.”

Auston walked between them, digging his chin into Mitch’s head as he blocked Matt fro view. “Hey Mouse, how about you head off to bed and I’ll join you in a few? Just going to send Marty off.”

“Yeah yeah.” He yawned. “G’night Marty.”

“Night, Mitch,” he said in reply, watching the kid trudge off in the direction of the bedrooms. Auston turned to him.

Matt held up one hand, using the other to fish out the keychain. “Got you covered. I detailed what we did on the notebook on the coffee table, uh, kitchen is clean, dishes are good. Nothing really notable happened.”

Auston took the materials from him, laughing quietly to himself as he checked them over. “Thanks Marty. It sounds like he had fun. Would I be able to put you down for future use?”

“Yeah, of course. Love the guy. He’s really nice. I can see why you like him.”

Auston blushed, an odd sight on someone so esteemed. “He’s a catch. I regret having to leave so soon after he came around but you know how things are. Relationships are never convenient.”

“About that,” Matt tested, scratching the back of his head to look more casual, “so what’s your deal with him?”

“My deal?” Auston looked up with a smirk on his face, eyebrow quirked.

At the time, he looked like he was playing around. Forgetting that he could quite literally change on a dime, Matt pushed, his desire to learn more overpowering his self-preservation instinct.

“What’s he doing here? Like, beyond the whole boyfriend-thing because he doesn’t act like a boyfriend. Why are the laundry machines behind that door and the fire escape; why is that staircase locked? Why can’t he go outside or--or watch the news?”

The smirk dropped. “Because he can’t. Simple as that.”

“I know it’s not my place to ask--”

“You’re right, it’s not your place to ask.” Auston’s went frigid, cold and immobile as ice. He’d hit a nerve, and a sore one at that. “You are in no position to ask. You are here to do your job, and you’ve done it. So I think it’s time you go home.”

“Matthews--”

“Martin. Please go.” Auston’s voice left no room for argument.

Matt cleared his throat. “Okay, I’m leaving.” He walked around, gait awkward as Auston’s eyes remained on him. Halfway to the elevator he froze, looking back where Auston remained in place, unmoving.

“I’m paying you enough to not have to talk to you about anything,” Auston rasped. “Don’t make me regret trusting you.”

Matt had his back turned and could have easily kept walking, but the bait was too tantalizing to ignore. “So you do something on this magnitude and I’m supposed to just ignore it?” he asked, bitterly.

“You have a criminal record, I’m a business elite. It’s your word against mine.” Matt bristled. How fucking entitled did he think he was? That because he didn’t rough a guy up at a bar he was somehow ethically superior. Nevermind the fact he was ruining the lives of thousands and causing economic turmoil on the sidelines and couldn’t even take the responsibility for it.

He moved to counteract but stopped himself before he’d say something he’d regret. In the underground, you had to pick your own battles. Being stupid wouldn’t let him understand their situation any better nor soothe Auston. He was better off leaving and letting the aggression pass than poking at Auston until he really did snap.

He was getting ahead of himself. Auston was still his employer. Mitch was still, technically, a stranger. And they were happy. He didn’t have to be a knight in shining armour all the time.

Matt deflated. “Alright, I’ll bite. Have a good night Matthews.” His tone was noticeably lighter, but without any authenticity to it. Because when the elevator door slid open, he couldn’t be happier to be out of sight and away from Auston’s suffocating presence. It didn’t help the unease and nausea brimming at the thought of leaving Mitch behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> usually i keep these things subtle but if it feels like mitch is written OOC, it's because we're in matt's perspective and he tries his hardest to de-age and place him as the victim in every scenario. that was bugging me during editing so i just wanted to get it out there
> 
> no big trigger warnings outside of the pre-established kidnapping in the second part and abusive/manipulative relationship of tavares and strome which will be expanded on (mitch and ryan know each other)


	4. October 25, 2026

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am very tired but want this out of me so may you all have a good night i will pass out

**October 25, 2026**

Tavares was keen on collecting payments, or, well, _commissions_ really, from Matt’s time in Toronto.

It was part of their deal when he was put on exchange, large in part because at the time of their move Abby was being transferred to a facility in Scarborough and he wasn’t about to let her take off without coming with. Toronto was a place of opportunity and because of their financial roots, lacked the bodyguards and beefcakes necessary to accompany them. Case in point, easy work.

Had he known how far up he would rise, maybe they would’ve settled in Guelph. Or Mississauga.

So, in a rapid turn of events, he preferred to look at their runaway as a sort of vacation. Nothing concrete. He knew how it was, whether you were an exchange or defector, those that crossed over to the other side were seldom trusted. He lucked out with Tavares happening to own a couple of both--Ryan was the perfect example--and kindly reintegrating them back into New York. But he would never belong, and dreaming of a permanent residence in New York played on fantasy.

He took up odd jobs, reunited with old friends, and had fun with the sparse glimpses of laughter, all the while returning home and helping Abby through her cramps and complaining as she neared her expectancy date.

There stood one obstacle in his way, and that was big, strong Tavares and his many eyes and ears around the city. Always watching, taking notes, and chasing after Matt for the bailouts he anticipated.

“The kid’s real pretty,” Tavares was saying a few afternoons in, just as Matt turned over his bills and was getting ready to leave the club front. He was tapping his pen against the pad of paper in front of him repeatedly.

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” He wouldn’t weigh in any input. Never thought of him in that way.

“You could use that.”

“Let me stop you right there,” Matt said, voice thick with contempt that he hoped didn’t translate into contempt for his boss when it was more the thought making his stomach curl. “I came here so that he wouldn’t have that kind of life.”

Tavares leaned back in his chair. “Like it or not, he’s going to be a criminal forever. May as well make the best of it.”

Matt sucked his bottom lip in under his teeth, testing the strength of his bite. “No. I can’t. If you’re so desperate to use him then put him on the side. He’s smart, he can do work for your cover businesses.”

“But it’s my understanding that he was at one point an escort.” It delved into something much too personal, too close to home.

“Yes,” he clarified, and it burned him, because Mitch confided in him about his experiences and here we was, blabbering off. “He was, but not anymore. That was London’s fault.”

“So the Leafs--”

“--He was going to school for public relations because of how business-versed he is.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Matthews,” Tavares hummed. “I’ll see what we can do, but we already got regular employees in, so it will be a bit of a squeeze.”

“Thank you,” Matt replied. “Thank you so much.” He forced as much gratitude into his voice as he could.

Permanent or not, he owed Tavares big time. And, to his credit, John was really enthusiastic to begin from where Matt left off. It was almost nostalgic, coming back to the same old lobbies and street corners he’d fought on since his youth and seeing familiar faces both friendly and foe. Yeah, it was back-breaking work but in a twisted sense, it was good to be home.

The apartment, on the other hand, was still shitty when he got back. The front window blinds were drawn, door locked on arrival, and streets as clean as a whistle. He kept himself tense going in, braced for a fight or some other shifty activity that had sprung itself on Abby while he was out.

Opening the door slowly, he found nothing out of the usual except for a voice carrying through the walls, soft-spoken but amplified because of the hollow walls; as if standing in a cave system.

“-Yeah, I know. Listen to me, how’d you get this number?” it asked, voice deceptively deep.

Matt shut the door behind him quietly and toed his loafers off on the muddied doormat. He didn’t want to disturb Mitch and whoever he was on the phone with, but his curiosity was egging him on. The home line supplied shouldn’t be connected to anything or _anyone_ , so who would be calling the exact residence barring some random-ass telemarketing company?

“I don’t care, you shouldn’t have called here. You know better,” Mitch continued, and for Matt, the essence of familiarity was provocative enough to lure him forward.

Mitch was strong, sure, but he could also be an emotional wreck at times. Alone and vulnerable, there was no telling whether or not he’d latch onto aspects of his old life. There was nothing stopping Auston from trying to seduce him back with hospitable little snips and empty words.

Without consulting Mitch, Matt stomped across the room in just his frazzled socks and jammed his finger into the speakerphone button.

“Who is this?” he asked, voice devoid of emotion as he waited for the inevitable hang up. Unfortunately, there was no place for manners and politeness when their lives were in constant turmoil and the baby was at risk of death around every corner.

“Who are _you_?” The voice replied, and Matt could take a breather at knowing the chipped but unperturbed tone couldn’t be Auston in disguise. In fact, he had no idea who it was. Sadly, it didn’t eliminate the immediate danger.

“Uh, family friend,” he stuttered out. “Why are you calling Mitch?”

“We were early childhood friends. I’m Connor. Nice to meet you, whoever you are. Can you put me back on with Mitch?”

“I’m still here,” Mitch said softly. “Sorry, Connor. Can I hang up and call you back, or-”

“No, I’m mostly finished up here,” Connor interrupted. “Is your friend in on the name on the game?”

Matt dodged the question, turning to Mitch. “Is this guy from Toronto, Mitch?” Mitch turned around, mouth gaping. He appeared at a loss for words, the truth likely enough to scorch his insides black.

“Edmonton,” Connor corrected.

“He’s an Oiler,” Mitch mouthed at him, “McDavid.” Matt jerked in place, alert. His gut chilled, like a brain freeze, but in his lower abdomen. It had all his muscles clench in the expectancy of a fight.

Although his initial instinct was to keep down and play along, he pushed through the clot of hesitance and moved closer to the abandoned receiver. The last thing he wanted to do was negotiate with someone as problematic as an Oiler. He’d rather die than try to see eye to eye with a delinquent like McDavid. There was no denying that he was a problem; a bigger problem than Auston.

Sure, Auston had taken the city by storm at a very young age for someone in the mob, but Babcock, Mo, and the head honcho himself Shanahan had been grooming him since recruitment, at which point he was very impressionable. It took five years to turn him from broke university student to superweapon sitting at the front-end of the table. But the role wasn’t made for Auston, Auston was made for the role. So, at times, there was bits and pieces of humanity that could be scavenged, mainly at the expense of Mitch’s happiness.

(In that Mitch was a possession but still a person with thoughts and feelings. Matt couldn’t say the same for the other mob wives that’d gone down in history.)

Connor, however, was leagues above Auston in that he’d had training and ties with local crime syndicates before he was thirteen. Now a God in the underground, he dominated every corner of the continent and even beyond, pushing the legends of Crosby and Malkin out and replacing it with a newfound legacy of greatness. And now he knew where Mitch was.

Matt didn’t care if the relationship was positive--he wanted to eradicate it. No good ever came from dealing with the devil.

“Uh, Mc--Connor,” he stopped himself. “Sorry, how did you get this number?”

“Oh, a friend’s brother said he saw you around and patched me through. I was just going to check in and find out why my old friend was in New York now. Did you know me and Mitch went to the same high school before he dropped out? What a whiz kid he was. I’d always cheat off his English tests.” Matt blinked twice during the inflow of information, still trying to process the intention.

He was surely _upfront_. Strange, for his kind. All the bosses and superiors he’d knew prided themselves on holding their tongue on as much information as possible, always poker-faced and never revealing their hand of cards. He’d never met Connor, but this was a bit weird, even after the rumours he’d heard.

Mitch stepped up. “Yeah, good times. Good to hear your voice but, I think I’m going to need to let you go.”

“Mitch, please,” Connor pleaded.

“You’re just doing this to one-up Auston,” Mitch interjected, a momentary stretch of bravery overcoming his features.

“Mitch, I’m not insinuating that I’m a good person or that I don’t have secondary intentions. It’s how the world works. What’s important is that I’m being honest with you. If you need someone to keep you safe from Auston, like, _real_ safe--safe where he’s not still monitoring you from across the border--let me know,” Connor’s voice cracked and split on the other end of the line, but Matt had a feeling that it did not neuter the original intention. Mitch looked partially thoughtful, and that’s possibly what scared him the most.

Matt stood up. “Thanks McDavid, we appreciate it. If that’s all then-”

“Wait,” Connor said, stopping him mid-sentence. “I’m serious about my offer. Mitch, I can’t promise you a crime-free life, but Auston can’t get you here. I won’t try to involve you beyond your comfort level and I’ll pay for the flight and all your necessities. It will be okay.” Mitch held his breath for a moment, then leaned forward to get closer to the phone.

“Thanks Connor, I’ll consider it.”

“Alright.” Connor didn’t sound convinced, but there was nothing more he could do. “Well, talk to you soon. Stay safe.”

“Bye,” Mitch said, and the line beeped to signify Connor had hung up. For a minute, the two just looked at the docked receiver, trying to make sense of what happened.

Then Mitch turned to him, knee bouncing so quickly it resembled the frequency of hummingbird wings.

“If it helps, I’m not going to take him up on his offer. We used to be friends, but that was a long time back. He’s no better than Auston and,” he paused, “I know better now.”

“I know you do. Let’s just block his number and move on.” He went to grab the phone but Mitch was there first, shaking his head.

“It’s alright. I’m not scared of him or any deal he’ll make.”

“Yeah, I know you're not and that's why I don't want him in this house.” His speech climbed in volume, parsable in fury.

“Calm down,” Mitch said, tucking his chin down. “It's nothing.”

“If that’s nothing I want to know what something is,” Matt demanded, throwing his jacket off in the direction of the couch. “He’s a fucking psychopath.”

“I know he is. I know,” Mitch chanted. “I’m not going to go near him, I promise. But there’s no point in making an enemy with someone of that calibre. I’m going to let him off easy.”

“If he knows where you are there’s nothing stopping him from swooping in and taking you away. Who was the accomplice? Did you talk to someone and tell them?”

Mitch flashed a wounded look. “Do you think I would do something like that?”

“How am I supposed to know? You and Ryan were getting cozy last week, I saw you.” He couldn’t help himself, he had to bring it up.

“Nothing is going on between me and Ryan! I knew him when I was younger.”

“You seem to know a lot of people Mitchy.”

Buckling down, Mitch unravelled right in front of him, getting up in his face. “He had a thing with Tavares and it was similar to Auston, so I thought I could talk to him and mull it over. I’m sorry for growing up in crime central, but in case you weren’t aware, I didn’t really have a choice! We all started out in the same school and were easy pickings, so I played along.”

“You can’t trust them. Any of them.”

Mitch scoffed. “But you can?”

Before he could stop himself, one of Matt’s hands had lunged forward and taken Mitch by the arm. “Don’t talk to me like that. I’m the reason you’re out in the first place.”

A tremble was running through his hands, connecting him to Mitch. “Don’t touch me, stop!” Mitch replied.

There was real fear in his eyes. Although he let go soon after, the instantaneous effect had Mitch flinching away in a defensive position, trying to put some distance between them.

“Mitch,” he spoke out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”

His first thought was to try and heal the worst of the damage with an embrace or sweet-slick words, but he had an inclination that keeping his distance was the best course of action. Mitch appeared to have to rehabilitate himself, pressing a clammy hand to the back of his neck as he sucked in whooping breaths of air.

“Marty,” Mitch mumbled a brief moment later, rubbing his arm with the remaining hand he had left. “I know, but, it’s just, I’ve been telling myself for the past week I won’t endanger you guys and then I go ahead and do it.”

Fighting the urge to bring him in close, Matt sighed. “I’m upset because I’m afraid you’ll go back. I want you to have a good life. I want you to have a job and a family and have what we have. But it’s my fault. I keep expecting good behaviour and you’re right, I don’t show it.”

He backed away a few steps, laughing to himself. “I go out and beat people out to pay the bills. And I do it because I was stupid and made a big mistake, but I don’t want my kid to pay the price. There’s this vain hope, that I might emerge something greater. We talk about having a nice house and big family but it’s just something to keep us going to work in the morning.”

It was hard to think, harder to admit. It was tearing down his walls for no discernable benefit. He had to take a seat on the couch after his outburst, Mitch sitting down beside him. They shared that common hopelessness, basking in the depressive mindset that was so captivatingly evil.

Minutes later, Mitch turned to him lazily. The drugged-like movements were indicative of a bigger problem (he was sure the kid wasn’t sleeping) but at the moment, the lack of energy was a Godsend. A reminder that they had this, and themselves.

“For what it’s worth,” Mitch breathed, “I think you’re doing a great job with me.”

Something deep inside Matt’s heart stirred. He couldn’t help himself, eventually, turning to ruffled the kid’s head of hair, mussing around with his clothes until he was back and laughing again. It changed the tone of the room immediately. Very few people could do that, but Mitch could.

A lesser person would cling, but independence was key. He was a sitting duck for trouble if Matt continued to insist he stay inside and do nothing. Boredom could be just as bad a motivator as envy or jealousy if the cards were played right. He could push every protective instinct he wanted on him, but Mitch was an adult approaching middle age. It was time to let go.

“Oh, I’m just getting started. I’m sure I could cook up a social insurance number and fake driver’s license for you if you help with the dishes.” Mitch’s expression slowly morphed into an unwavering look of determination that plagued every inch of his features.

“You don’t have to do that for me.” His voice was wavering, steady expression not able to compensate for it.

“Sure I do, you wanted a new life, right?” Mitch’s head dipped down, so Matt used a hand to tip it back up. “It’s New York baby. This is the pincushion of fake documentation. It’s probably where Auston went to get your credentials for university.”

Mitch looked away. “Yeah.”

“And it’s going to be fun. We’re going to have a great time. Just a little bit longer.”

It was the same words he repeated to himself every night in hopes it would inspire some change. He didn’t know how effective they’d be, but luckily (or unluckily depending on how the mood was read) Abby made a return from shopping for baby clothes downtown, which transpired an entirely new conversation that sent them barreling into finances and name-picking. Maybe it made him a bit awful, but he preferred it be that way. He didn’t have the expertise to put Mitch back together again, just the motivation.

 

After dinner, Mitch kept his earlier promise of staying behind to wash the dishes with Matt drying so that Abby didn’t have to shoulder the responsibility after helping to cook dinner on her swollen feet. It mainly consisted of towel whipping and bubble throwing, so much so that Abby eventually stormed in with a hand on her belly mid-way through and demanded they stop lest she banish Matt from the bedroom that evening.

Matt still had to mop up the suds and puddles of water afterwards to earn his keep. Mitch got off scot-free.

Shoving the mob and its subsequent bin into the musty kitchen pantry, he headed out of the kitchen area and approached the living room. The archaic television set was playing an out of tune news broadcast, the anchors delivering the same crushing tragedies and news with straight faces. Not that it was attention-grabbing or anything of the sort; Mitch and Abby were absorbed in their own little routine.

He wiped his hands down his pants as he walked over to join them in their activity, immediately noting how Abby was pressed up against Mitch and speaking to him with lucid tones. Her waves of blonde hair were suspended by an elastic band roped loose around the bottom half of her skull, youth very much apparent beyond the initial wrinkles and crow’s feet. Despite the years taking their toll, she looked as beautiful as she did when they’d first locked eyes.

Adoration came surging forward in an abundance of waves, crashing into him and almost sweeping him off of his feet. Leaning over the side of the couch, he balanced his chin on the crest of her head and hummed a note deep in his throat that reverberated through her, just so she would know he was there.

Abby had a worn baby catalogue splayed out across her thighs, pointing at the various multi-coloured items and murmuring about them in detail to Mitch. From where Matt was standing, the text was incomprehensible, but it seemed not to matter. The pictures were big and telling. All an oasis of plastic and rubber designed to cradle and raise a child, entertaining when the parents could not.

“I don’t know, I was thinking of a nice blue but we don’t exactly know the gender, so I’m not sure exactly what to do with the room. Marty thought yellow would be a good neutral colour but I was afraid it’d be too bright,” Abby complained, bringing up the age-old question again. Matt had heard it one too many times to become invested once more.

Mitch stepped in where he could not. “I think yellow would be fine, but blue works too. Who cares about genders; it’s a good colour to sleep to. I mean, this living room is only an off-shade of it and I’m drowsy just sitting here. It’ll save you a lot of trouble in the long run.” Mitch was speaking like someone wise beyond his years. Auston had boasted that he was well-endowed in children’s affairs, and he definitely seemed to turn that angle. More and more, he proved to be versed in the direction of youth.

“Yeah, you’re right. I just don’t want the crib to stand out too much in comparison.”

“Are you planning to paint the walls in the rooms here or--”

“We’re planning to move out west, or south, as soon as we’re back on our feet,” Matt interjected. “You’re welcome to come with us, if you want. Probably going to try Alabama or Arkansas where it’s cheaper.”

Mitch looked between the both of them. “Are the Islanders just going to let you leave?”

“I’ll pay my dues, do a few favours. It won’t be legal or legitimate in their eyes but we have money saved up; have been saving for years. Living off the bare essentials. At least out there there’s less gangs. Less chance of confrontation.”

Mitch perked up at that. “Then yeah, I’d like to come with you,” he said. Abby snuggled into Mitch’s side, one hand gripping her tea mug tightly. Matt placed a hand on her shoulder.

So yeah, Alabama wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of greatness, but Mitch was smiling at the both of them like Matt had shown him the world. So, he supposed it was pretty great.

 

**June 1, 2026**

Summer approached with rapid definition, heat almost impenetrable by rain and smog thicker than a handmade quilt. With all the city buzz and weekend on the horizon, Auston thought it’d be a good idea to slow down and smell the roses. Which translated into going to a baseball game in town at smack dab one in the afternoon.

The action of the game was minimized from the view of the box, but to make up for it there was hot, steaming food readily served in five-minute intervals. The woman manning the box took their drink orders and returned within seconds, cordially greeting all of her guests and their clients before she stood behind the plush couches in expectancy of servitude.

It’s because, as Auston put it, they were “esteemed guests from a known sponsor of the arena.” Matt wasn’t knowledgeable enough to know if the other people inside the box were of a similar ilk let alone worked alongside Auston, but they primarily kept to themselves. Like Auston, they were clean-cut and donning freshly-pressed suits lacking much of any wrinkle or tear.

Clearly, Mitch had missed the memo about dress-appropriate attire--that or Auston had balked on telling him in the first place--because he was in a simple white tee with skinny denim blue jeans. Despite that, the many employees and guests treated him as one of their own, and gratefully shook his hand as Auston introduced him to the many unusual faces.

He and Auston were set up in the fourth row of seats, backs against the ledge supporting the bar counters and stools were Matt was perched, keeping watch. His orders were to cover Mitch’s ass at all times but not talk to him; Auston clearly on edge since their last confrontation. Matt wasn’t too inclined to break said rules and risk his prestige, especially after working so hard to build a name for himself after his New York roots, so he sat back and enjoyed the luxuries while he had access to them.

However, he was less focused on the Jays and how they were playing and was squinting down at Mitch, or at least, the aerial view of him. There were bursts of blue poking out from Mitch’s collar that continued down his arm, wrapping around his elbow and stretching out alongside the underside of his bicep. Since their previous few assignments something had changed, and it looked remarkably bigger than some obtuse love bite. Also impossible was it being an undershirt, because the colours only beamed through on one side.

Down in the pitch, one of the Jays’ batters was hit in the leg by a stray pitch, prompting a chorus of boos from disappointed crowd members. Mitch was key in how he was managing little grumbles, like an agitated cat, and it was enough to get Auston moving aside to comfort him. Auston had him half in his lap, securing Mitch with an arm clasped around his waist that absolutely forced him to ride up on Auston’s thigh.

“Why insurance?” Mitch asked, first spoken dialogue since the two had sat down and entirely out of the blue. Auston’s hand reappeared, patting his knee.

“Because you need it. Need it for your car, your property, your life. You can’t avoid it. Always a bang for a buck if you know how to play your cards,” Auston shouted, loud enough to be heard over the game.

 **“** And you went into finance?”

“Actually, commerce. I transitioned into a Bachelor of Finance later after I met Willy. Got picked up after I graduated and well, you know the rest.”

“Well I don’t care what you’re doing, just keeping doing it. This is great,” Mitch said to himself, remarking upon the stadium of bombastic noise and crowd appeal. Auston pressed their lips together with a little hum to himself, sealing the end of the conversation shut. Their speech transformed into telling little touches and squeezes that conveyed what words could not.

It was borderline public affection but he wasn’t the only guilty party in the box. Just across from where Mitch was rubbing little circles into Auston’s collarbone was another couple probably based in the GTA pressing little butterfly kisses to each other in the shade of the wine cabinet beside them. Matt only watched long enough to see bright red pressing stains into pale concealer before he shied away to give them privacy.

It was the hoity-toity leisure that came from a position of power; being able to flaunt a partner around like a trophy. It ranked low on his list of priorities because if for a second he was supposed to believe public opinion and rashness equalled a greater love than he had been going about his slow and steady relationship wrong for over a decade. In his opinion, it was stupid and degrading.

Had he not met Mitch, it would be easy to excuse the sugar babies as just as knob-headed as their partners. Quite the opposite actually. Auston might be able to run the numbers but Mitch had a variety of other talents and areas of wisdom that couldn’t hope to compare. Perhaps those two were the same and he was just pea-brained.

Or Mitch was special, that worked too.

Matt distracted himself with a plate of buffalo chicken wings they’d put out, not willing to question Auston and again, put himself in the line of fire. As he munched away he swore he saw Auston’s hand disappear under Mitch’s shirt, which in turn, made his own skin crawl. It was something else, seeing the two interact. Genuine and appearing to be full of love, while also unsure and unrequited at the exact same time. Balancing on a precious scale of love and hate, he liked to think.

He would never do anything like that with Abby, even with prior negotiation. To demote her to some armpiece would be unthinkable. To be said armpiece even more degrading.

Negotiation was key, and he felt as though it was a large component missing between Auston and Mitch. They were as much boyfriends as they were boss and employee. You wouldn’t tell your boss their shirt was too low or there was food stuck in their teeth, just as how Mitch wouldn’t tell Auston that he was uncomfortable sitting on the brunt of his knee nor being tickled on the side when he was trying to concentrate on the latest play.

Seventh inning in, and Auston and Mitch had hardly moved from their original spots except to grab plates of food. Mitch was more inclined to grab mild chicken wings and taco salad, whereas Auston had more respectable tastes and was munching down on chicken bowtie pasta they’d just put out. Matt was invested enough to know the Jays were winning, but that was about it. In fact, he’d been so invested in watching the two interact he’d hardly touched his food beyond little nibbles.

One of the attendants was balancing a tray of beverages when she lost her footing and lunged to the side for support, subsequently soaking mitch down his right side. Everyone jumped in opposite direction to avoid the splash, but for Mitch, it was a lost cause.

She immediately apologized profusely, but while others were glaring up from their seats, Mitch looked unaffected. He shook his hair out like a dog, wringing out his shirt.

“Hey, hey it’s fine,” he calmed her, one hand patting her shoulder. “Let me just get changed. Marty?”

It wasn’t necessary, as Matt was already seeing to clearing the aisle from spectators to escort him up and back to the seating area. Auston was moving to get up and follow them too, but Mitch didn’t hesitate to shoo him down with a folded hand motion. Auston grumbled to himself, yelling out a “just call if you need me,” before taking a seat and returning to the game.

The bathroom was just across the narrow hall, and entirely unused because there was no seventh-inning stretch bleeding out and sending people and their bladders packing. Matt dodged the oversized urinals and turned around to help Mitch yank his shirt over his head, the cotton fabric sticking to his shoulders and needing to be quite literally peeled off like a cocoon.

Extravagant, blooming blue slapped Matt in the face, and before he knew it, he was looking at a visual mirage of colour and life. Despite some of it peeling around the corners, there was no mistaking the professional craftsmanship of a tattoo artist having unprecedented access to Mitch’s arm, decorating it in a tasteful collection of draping leaves that concealed his peachy skin.

“Woah,” he remarked. “That wasn’t there before.” At the moment, the background and reasoning fell on deaf ears. He had to admire it and the weaving lines, thin as spiderwebs but also finite enough to show through with care.

“Oh, this? I got it just last week.” He poked at some of the light scabbing near the bottom of his elbow, the skin flaking and drifting away. “Takes a lot not to itch it.”

He felt compelled to ask because of the circumstances. “Did you get it or did Auston?”

“Both,” Mitch answered. He practically harassed the soap dispenser, pumping out goopy handfuls of pink soap that he applied to the scabbing with peppered strides. Although he didn’t apply much pressure, he rubbed the substance into every crevice of skin that the drinks had hit.

“I just don’t want it to get infected,” Mitch said, as he rinsed off the suds. “Auston said I shouldn’t be swimming or doing anything with liquid until it’s fully healed.” Matt helped him by shucking out a good fold of paper towels, to which Mitch accepted and then began blotting his arm.

“Auston said that?”

“Yeah, you’ve seen his tat, right?” Mitch made a large, grabbing motion with his hands. His elongated fingers spread out like miniature stars. “The big maple leaf one. Bold?”

“Oh, yeah I’ve seen it. Got one just like it.” He pulled his shirt back and revealed the white leaf strung out across his breast. Mitch laughed to himself, pretending to shield his eyes.

“You got so much hair dude,” he spat out between giggles. “Gross.”

Matt whined, rearranging his shirt so that both his Leafs and Islanders tattoos were shielded from peeping eyes. “Some people think it’s attractive.” His eyebrows bounced, applying more emphasis.

Mitch slapped at his arm, scratching at his lower hand, probably to supplement the insane urge to scratch at his arm that would be bugging him. The sharper colours of the ink hadn’t even begun to peak through yet, and already Mitch’s colours were pronounced enough to be seen from a mile away.

The shirt was going to take a while to air out, so Matt lent Mitch his leather jacket to wear overtop so he wasn’t walking around shirtless. They hung the tee up by the sink with two clothes hangers to speed the process, but they were still looking at a couple of hours.

Credit where it was given, the kid wore it with pride. He strut in, yielding the multiple apologies from the attendant and making a beeline back towards their seats to rejoin Auston. The murmurs were faster than he was though, and Auston’s head had turned round before Mitch could embark with sitting on his lap again and smothering him with his whole ten pounds of weight.

Immediately, teeth poked through in a lecherous smile. “You look like something out of a music video,” Auston commented. “It’s sexy.”

“Maybe you should buy me my own jacket then,” Mitch purred back, bonking his nose against Auston’s forehead hard enough to send them both reeling back. It was cute. By all accounts something normal people would say.

Normal people, with fingernails dirtied with blood and five-foot long brands disguised as art. Matt took his place back in his watchtower and tried to get comfortable.


	5. November 2, 2026

**November 2, 2026**

The club was boisterous, stacked full of young people sashaying to the beat of the music like members of a hivemind. Matt only loosely classified it as music, because it was more like someone took a synthesizer, piano, and cymbals and banged them at random, it all culminating in the biggest and loudest clusterfuck known to man.

It was hot and sticky, the complete opposite of the world outside. Being as old as he was, it was not his preferred scene, and neither was it Mitch’s if his grimace was anything to go by. People kept grinding into his side and then splitting into confused looks as the strobe lights hit his face and revealed his wrinkles and crow’s feet. Not too old, no, but definitely past his prime.

“No hitting on any cute boys, okay?” he yelled at Mitch over the bass. They’d had to link their hands together to avoid getting separated.

“I don’t think I’m in the mood for romance right now,” Mitch laughed, but there was a tinge of sadness in his voice.

To make up for it, Matt grabbed him lightly around the back of the neck and massaged it lightly. “I know kiddo. And you know the drill.”

Mitch pushed him away. “Marty, I’ll be fiiiine,” he drawled out, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

“You never know. Please be careful. Check for tats and don’t talk about yourself.”

Mitch waved him off, batting his eyelashes like a damsel in distress. “I know, mister hero, I can take care of myself.”

The club’s bar was tucked into the far back, the backlighting stroking the counters with shades of blue and purple that caught the bartenders’ aprons and reflected it back at their beck and call. Matt didn’t know the two men running the bar, but when he leaned over the counter they appeared to recognize him and Mitch and coaxed them to move to a location where there were fewer people.

“You ever work behind a counter before?” The first shouted in the middle of fixing a martini. His floppy black hair was startlingly reminiscent of Auston’s, to the point of concern.

“No, but Ryan said I’d just be washing glasses.”

“Yeah, but we might get you to make a coke, float or two--” Mitch nodded “--the bar cleaning checklist has your schedule and cleaning regulations, so just run and pick that up.” The guy, Mat (ha ha), Matt believed was what his name tag said, sashayed to the side to make room so that Mitch could slip between the gate separating them from the crowds.

Matt was reluctant to let bygones be bygones and leave immediately, so he hung around until Mitch returned, safe and sound, with a name tag of his own clipped to his dress shirt and a slim binder tucked under his arm, which he disposed of in one of the cubbies around the side. From there, Tito and the other guy took over and started barking out orders.

The three looked like peas in a pod, not different in age nor their appearance or occupation. Mitch took to them like a fish would water, not undertaking any major tasks but doing the in between work that would slow his co-workers down had he not been there. His natural charm and smiles got him out of a few difficult situations, maybe too much for Matt’s sake, but he was far too occupied with surveying the club patrons for clues.

He knew many of them would be associates of the Islanders, and he didn’t particularly care. It was too dark to dedicate any faces to memory, and Mitch wasn’t talk of the town yet. No word from the grapevine implied Auston’s missing mistress was making headlines in the north, so there wasn’t going to be any reconnaissance spies lurking around New York for clues to sniff out. Still, he couldn’t be too cautious, and every tattoo was under suspicion.

Matt ended up having other business to attend to with Tavares. The man’s presence cut through the heavy bodies from the booth he’d claimed, and though his smile didn’t look forced there was an air of uncertainty when he and Matt made eye contact. Someone that would sell their secrets, even on a transfer, was someone to fear.

“Marty,” he greeted, “come sit down. We’ve all been waiting.” Matt couldn’t make sense of the other faces around the table, with the exception of a red-faced Ryan, but flashed a smile for the sake of putting on good appearances.

“Just making sure Mitch was getting along alright.”

“Oh, Mat and Tito will look after him, don’t worry. They’re all,” he waved his hand, “cutesy and romantic and shit. Just his type.”

Matt couldn’t feign his surprise. “You keep guys like that close?”

“I honestly could care less who they fuck and what they do unless it’s negatively impacting me. They can suck face just as well as they barter and skim, so fuck it, I let them get around.” The liberal attitude was nothing like what he was used to from Toronto or even the old Islanders organization he’d worked for years ago, but he forked over his confusion for a small cast grin to keep Tavares satisfied.

That was the start of the evening, or so it was called. It reminded him more of a business arrangement than something casual, but no one referred to it as such. They smacked each other on the shoulders, spilt beer over their monstrous cups and beer bottles, and snagged the platter food delivered on the regular.

When he wasn’t trying to pertain to the show of comfort, Matt made a show of fetching drinks for Tavares and his crew in the place of using a waitress for an excuse to talk to Mitch. Every half hour he’d get a glimpse of him wiping down the bar, taking out the trash, or manning the glass washing machine with a concentrated look on his face. Although tempting, he didn’t try to break Mitch’s rhythm for his own personal needs and let him be.

Three Coronas and two Bud Lights later, they were throwing around household names and discussing gang politics that Matt didn’t feel qualified to talk about. None of it was important anyway, they wouldn’t waste the time to talk about moving manpower around with Matt at the table. Instead, it was more like show and tell. Matt would talk about a few of the Leafs’ exploits, where they were going, and other bits and pieces he’d picked up off the carpet from under Auston’s so-called tutelage.

“So,” Tavares took a huge chug, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “you must be living it up in the GTA my friend. Ryan and I have been trying to book a good wedding locale there for months.” Ryan had to abandon his drink in order to comply with Tavares’ little pecks, and soon after, his order to sit on his lap, in public no less.

Matt cleared his throat, unable to assess how he should approach them when they were engaging in what he called “the honeymoon phase” of a relationship. If he could be grateful for one thing, it was that Auston and Mitch weren’t nearly as show-boaty as these two were, and were ten times as convincing. If Matt looked real close, he could see how the corner of Ryan’s lips were straining, his back strung tight to keep his head up and neck bared.

“You, uh, hoping to have more luck with this one?” Matt asked, gesturing at the both of them and their frigid state of affection.

“Of course, she’s a beaut. I would show you a picture but my phone is dead.” The latter statement was clearly a lie, but Matt was more concerned with the pronoun game Tavares was playing.

He took a double take, cocking his head to the side as he clarified, “wait, she?”

“Yeah. I’ve talked to you about Aryne, right? I think I’d just met her when you left.”

“But, I thought you were marrying--”

“She’s lovely, but oh-so-busy. Ryan offered to help us out with the wedding planning. Toronto seemed like a good idea but I don’t want to tread on Auston if I can’t help it.”

Matt looked down into his drink. “You can say that again.” If he could find an acceptable channel to voice his perplexion, he would, but as it stood, Tavares was a mystery that couldn't be unwrapped.

“Still, it would be nice to get married in my hometown.” He had a look of nostalgia in his eyes, like a child sporting rose-tinted glasses walking back twenty years. “We’d make it so grand. Guess we just gotta settle for something second best. Which brings me to asking; Auston.”

Dread was sinking in his gut. “What about him?”

“I mean, he sounds like the world’s greatest success story but that’s besides the point. I need something solid on him to work with, Marty.” His face leered close, enough so that Matt could smell the alcohol plaguing his breath. “I’m not saying the kid knows something, but I’m pulling a lot of strings for him and I think, if worst comes to worst, he--”

“I refuse to let him be a bargaining tool, JT,” Matt objected. “Auston is more interested in me and I need to make sure he’s not meddling. I can give you what I have and really, I just did. Just, protect us, okay?”

“He’s a thorn in my side Marty and he ain’t giving up. How long do you expect me to keep his goons from walking all over the place?”

“Just a little bit longer. I know right now they won’t spread themselves too thin. Lamoriello wants out and they’re not going to be making any big deals until they’ve secured the position. Auston will be moving up the ranks so he’s not going to be focusing all his attention on ground troops.”

“Lou-Lou wants out?” Tavares set his drink down, pinching Ryan’s hip once with his jagged fingernails. “Interesting. Thought he was in a few more years.”

“Word says his protege Dubas is going to take the crown but nothing is final. Just what I’ve heard.” And it was technically true, Auston wouldn’t shut up about it. However, he was in no position to be sprouting rumours when there was the possibility it wouldn’t go according to plan and he’d be lynched.

“So I’m guessing this will become some big assassination plot? That’s a lot of talent to go down the drain. Maybe we can help him out a bit, you and I.” He pulled Matt in close by the shoulder. “Thanks for letting me know.”

It was just scraps honestly. He wasn’t some undercover spy that had real facts and statistics, but Tavares appeared to eat it up despite that. The remainder of the table, who he ended up never getting introduced to, nodded along and chimed in every once in a while, to which he’d laugh and play along even if their humour was as dry as sandpaper.

Unfortunately, the night didn’t die gracefully, but the crowds did start to dwindle around 1:30-ish as drunk patrons sought fun elsewhere. It gave him more freedom and less aspirin to ingest to combat his budding headache--another sign he was getting old. He bid goodnight to Tavares and went to collect Mitch just as he was wiping the sticky residue off the bottles, eyes weighed down by thick, curtained bags.

“Have fun kid?” he asked, jostling Mitch’s shoulder.

“Tired, but good,” Mitch answered, curt. “They got a good system here so I’m not really necessary. Did you know they serve a drink here called “A Short Trip to Hell”?”

Matt waved him off, acknowledge his question with a breathy chuckle. “Nonsense. I’m sure they love you.”

After all, Mitch was smiling. It drooped around the edges and was chock-full of fatigue, but he looked pleased with himself, and that was all Matt could hope for. He lounged around the counters, rinsing down the remainder of his drinking with a glass of water he'd ordered beforehand in mind of his casual drinking, and waited for Mitch to say his goodbyes and grab his belongings and work instructions out from his assigned cubby.

They were making good time, considering. The club wasn't dead but rapidly approaching the definition, so they didn't struggle nearly as much trying to squeeze their way out the doors and past the bouncer. It was like entering an entirely different hemisphere; the cold air was absolutely vicious and unrelenting, forcing him to shove his hands into his front pockets to salvage their usefulness. Winter was on the horizon, and it was making itself known using every trick up its sleeve except snowfall.

Seeing as how their residence wasn’t more than a thirty-minute walk from the bar, taking a car back seemed redundant. As they were exiting, manoeuvring the velvet rope and trash littering the body of the sidewalk, they pulled up to someone leaned against the signage, stomping out a cigarette with his boot.

"Have a good one, Tito," Mitch called, much too loud considering the shift he'd pulled and the time of night; Matt's ears were still ringing from the stupidly terrible music being blared. It did the trick at getting the other man's attention, and he approached the two decked in a slick leather jacket, showing a good amount of teeth.

"You guys heading west? I was going to call in a favour but if you guys are going anyway, I'll just save the money and time," he said. "My man’s staying late and normally I'd be with him."

And usually, Matt would humour the request, but he was tired and hungry. His soles burned and he could swear being in the club had given him a case of fast-acting tinnitus to worry about. He didn't want one of Tavares little minions trying to make quick gossip and disturb the delicate peace. Yet, just as Matt was preparing politely shrug him off and bid him a good night so they could make a quick dash for home, Mitch was already beside himself with joy accepting the request, head swinging up and down with quickly-earned momentum.

Matt forced himself to smile and play along. Fine. Twenty or so minutes with this guy and then he could tuck himself into bed and not worry again about something stupid happening. He just hoped both of them knew tonight wasn't the time to try and play truth or dare or pull some other kind of shenanigans. It was far too late for that.

It seemed that, in the span of five hours, both Tito and Mitch had connected their common interests and were making strides to becoming friends, which was good and bad for many reasons that Matt could think of off the top of his head. For one, he didn’t want Mitch getting attached to the city and then having to rip himself from it when it came time to move. And while he couldn't speak on behalf of Tito, most Islanders were the scummiest, penny-scrounging sons of bitches know to man. It was fine when you were one of them, but an outsider looking in wouldn't benefit at all from trying to fit in with them.

Tito was swinging a beer bottle from his right hand, the other fisted in his jacket. Although appearing bewildered by the fatigue, he was palatable enough to start conversations with bypassing how much of the drink he was nursing. Mitch was particularly chatty, cheeping on about some ancient figure they’d had to serve that was as delirious as he was stupid. Matt could only pick up bits and pieces of the conversation to use, but from what he could tell Mitch was happy.

Pleased that they weren't being particularly obnoxious, and that Tito was good company and actually, from the looks of it, a good guy, he didn’t really care; they could be talking about murder and he wouldn’t interject. Partially, it was because he was plum-tuckered out from a long night and also because this was the happiest he’d seen Mitch since they moved. That’d been weeks back, and during that time, Mitch had been forced to endure more than the average person should expect to. He wasn’t a child, even if Matt like to idealize him as such, but to expect him to take to New York and the change in environment was some idealized fantasy. He had to take blessings when they were pitched his way.

Still sniggering behind him, the two were both staggering down the sidewalk, trailing after a significantly buzzed Matt trying to work his way out on a route to get home. The streets were bare; the city that never sleeps not applicable to the poorer areas. Here, it wasn’t wise to speak out of turn or wander alone in the dark. Matt assumed that was why Tito had grouped up with them, with it being cheaper and safer option considering many taxi drivers wouldn’t dare trespass here.

Not even five to ten minutes from their destination, and all hell broke loose. It didn’t come pulsing like a wave, but rang out with a couple distinct pops. Like firecrackers, which he initially identified as the culprit.

That was the first and only indication that there was trouble before the bullets came raging, aimed in a flurry that sprinkled the cement in every direction. It only occurred to him that they were dangerously close to Rangers territory when he heard the jeers from across the road, and could spot a group of people engaging in a scuffle, with baseball bats, fists, and firearms to assert their cause.

He had no idea if it was isolated, planned, or an all-out territory war, but he knew it wasn’t something worth sticking around for. The first thing he did was grab the collars of both Mitch and Tito and pull them to the ground. Their knees and elbows were scuffed by the rough treatment from the gravel and stones, but it was minute in comparison to the panic seizing his chest because of the fight.

In the heat of the moment, the people across the road wouldn’t care if they were Rangers, Islanders, Leafs, or even pedestrians. They would be shot at without second thought and be left to deal with the consequences later. It being night didn’t help their case either.

Beside him, he could hear Mitch’s fast-paced breathing. Tito was shucking at his belt buckle, pulling up his shirt until he could pull out his handgun and shiv; the latter of which would prove useless in far-range combat. Before he could take aim though, Matt forced the barrel down.

“Don’t fucking think about it,” he snarled. “You’ll get us all killed.”

Tito whipped around to face him, hair flying in a frenzy in front of his eyes, making him look deranged. “They’ll kill us if we stay here. They’ve been clearing us out from the Bronx since February and our orders are to--”

“I don’t give a damn what your orders are. There’s three of us and probably ten of them. It’s a lost cause.” He got up in Tito’s face, trying to intimidate the kid into dropping the weapon. If he did falter, Matt didn’t see though, because Tito went ahead and shouldered him aside, taking clear aim.

He ended up abandoning the pursuit, not of his own will, but because the second he ducked out of cover, more bullets rained down on them.

They took refuge behind a set of newspaper vending machines, but it became obvious that the cover wasn’t going to do them any favours. Until they could be sure of who the target was and where they were firing from, it was a gamble of should they move, should they stay, and what was the best course of action. Having three of them try to squish to the ground made it more difficult than ever to stay out of the line of fire.

Matt became increasingly more aware of the gun on his hip. He lacked proper training, but in truth, all he needed to do was pull the trigger and try to skewer his opponents. That old, seething hatred for the damn Rangers was beginning to pile on him. In the end, it was Mitch that tried to calm his intense vibe and pull him away.

“C’mon,” he panted, pointing at an opening in the brick wall a few feet from where they were cowering. “Over there, this won’t hold.”

In theory, it sounded like a good idea, but Matt couldn’t help but analyze how many times they could be shot at in the precious seconds it took to get up and run for safety. He shook his head no, but Mitch only further persisted.

“They’re coming closer,” Mitch growled. “Come on. If you don’t go, I will.”

“You can’t just--” he tried to object, but Mitch wasn’t going to sit still any longer. Deserting both Matt and Tito to the mercy of their opponents, he unfolded his body and made a desperate sprint forward.

Matt could only sputter and watch as Mitch ran right into the line of gunfire. His long-legged flurry of limbs looked almost ridiculous, especially when clad with formal-looking clothing and combed back hair. But, as soon as he’d stood, Mitch was safe in the alleyway, flying by a large green dumpster and making it to relative safety.

Tito didn’t even try to communicate with Matt what he was going to do, but left almost immediately after and joined Mitch, leaving Matt alone to deal with the onslaught. His options were extremely limited, more so in the low light. He weighed whether or not it was worth waiting out the fight or indeed making a run for it if they’d already identified him as a suitable target. Truth be told, it was in the best interests of returning home alive and before sunrise that had him decide to get up and run.

Of course, his feet gave out under him, and the trash flying around because of the wind further stumped him. His body wasn’t ready to take his weight so suddenly, and the truth smacked him in the face almost as hard as the pavement did when his cheek was thrown onto it.

“Marty!” Mitch screamed, and in the midst of the skirmish, with no gun or means of defence to his name, ran _back_ for Matt.

The next minute or so was blurry and unfocused, so much so that the ringing in his ears was all he could really cling to until his adrenaline hiccuped and let him move again. First thing he noticed was that it was noticeably darker, the next that he was directly under an old fire escape and there was a pair of hands on him.

“Marty, what the fuck!” Tito yelled in his face.

“Stop yelling at me!” Matt tried to batt Tito away, but his hands were yanked away.

Tito wasn’t taking anything but denial for an answer, kicking Matt until he uncurled from his little ball and got a firm look around. “Get up and help me!” Tito swung a finger around to the mouth of the passage where Mitch was crouched.

Mitch was looking down at his arm, holding it close to his chest. When the fingers unfolded like an accordion, Matt could see they were striped with thick, red lines of blood. His pupils were needle-thin, face rapidly devolving into a ghostly-white tint that made him look like a corpse.

“Help,” he moaned, “It burns.” His fingers couldn’t remain still long enough to put pressure on the wound, shaking so much it was like he’d been shocked with a bolt of electricity.

In a blind panic, Matt made the mistake of tugging him forward in a hustle, mainly with the interest of moving him out from where he could be continually shot and wounded, only for Mitch to fall on his right side and scream for bloody mercy. Beside him, Tito hushed Mitch, who was giving away their hiding spot if the shooters weren’t indicated that they’d moved already. It was of little use.

“I know, I know,” Matt repeated, sitting Mitch up against the brick wall belonging to the apartment behind them. He tried to press down on the wound, but Mitch swatted his hand away. “Does it hurt?”

“I can’t feel it but it’s cold.”

“I thought you said it was burning?”

Mitch spat up saliva, the surplus dribbling down his chin and soaking through his dress shirt until he skin shone through. “It’s both,” he wailed. “It’s both Marty, help me!”

It was hard to watch, and even with a hand steadying the arm and blocking more blood from bubbling up, he was at odds with what he should do given their location and predicament. It was there that Tito took the lead, grabbing Mitch from under his armpits and hoisting him up to his feet.

Matt wanted to object, to plead for what they should do and if the best option was to leave Mitch stranded in the graffiti and garbage filled alley until they could call for proper help, but Tito looked more than assured in his quest, giving Matt Mitch’s other arm support so that the weight was evenly distributed. Together, they led the panic-clad boy down the darkened halls, underneath the spiderweb of fire escapes until they reemerged on the other side, where the clearing was still populated with the cries of firearms from the other street.

Taking a detour severely impacted the speed at which they walked, and dealing with a gunshot victim made it worse. Mitch wasn’t severely hurt, but the catatonic shock had his legs dragging, skin clammy and cold to the touch because of his mind was reacting to his physical state. Once or twice Mitch would gag and they’d have to stop and bend him over; let him cough up bile and mucus as his body futilely tried to purge the contents of its stomach.

Eyes rolled into the back of his head, Mitch proved harder to move than usual, and it didn’t help that they were trying to forego any audiences from getting invested. If someone reported the offence, then the police would get involved. Mitch hadn’t yet got his own passport and record, so he’d be found out and from there, everything would unravel. So, it resulted in him being conflicted everytime they had to shield Mitch’s body, make it look as though they were walking a drunk friend home even when their story juxtaposed with the sound of sparks rising above the water towers and roof laundry lines.

It took ages, but they were able to drag Mitch the rest of the way to the apartment complex. Throughout it all, Marty could only feel choking guilt at their plight, because it was his fault. He should have stopped Mitch. Should have tried to support Tito. Should have waited a second to get a sense of his bearing before he tried running. He didn’t even know what had happened in those few seconds--if Mitch had shielded or dragged or did _God knows what_ with him--and he didn’t want to know. He just wanted Mitch to be okay.

Tito distributed the last of Mitch’s weight to Matt, taking a few steps away to preen himself and stand up straight.

“I need to report this,” he said. “I think you need to look after him.”

“Please don’t leave us alone,” Matt pleaded, but Tito shook his head.

“I need to talk to Mat and JT. I’m sorry.” He looked genuinely upset. “I need to get out of here.”

“Stay with us.” Matt crept up, towing a vexed Mitch with him in the process. Matt just didn’t want to be alone to deal with the emotional baggage, and didn’t want to have to play the knowledgeable guardian when in truth, he was just as lost as Mitch was.

“Sorry,” Tito bit back. “I have to go. Take care of Mitch. Call JT to let us know how he develops.” In the next second, he was gone, running off into the dark with his coat flailing behind him, Matt would’ve tried to call him back, if not worried it would attract unwanted attention that would further harm them.

The biggest struggle was getting Mitch up the stairs and not clipping his shoulder on the various doorframes. Worse, was the blood still steadily ebbing from the wound and Mitch was only getting more and more lethargic. He fumbled to get his keys in order to unlock the front door, but eventually gave up because of the panic and opted for banging.

It took three hits, a few yelled Abby's, and a test of the doorknob for the door to give way and let them fold into the main hall. Mitch’s knees buckled and he had to be picked up and carried the last few steps. It was unlikely it was because of something severe, just the psychological toll taken from enduring a wound alongside the stress of battle, but Abby was still bellowing for help.

“Oh my God, what the hell happened?” she shrieked. Matt grabbed her right arm to try and freeze her up, but only succeeded in transmitting a bloody handprint onto her bicep.

They laid Mitch alongside the couch, bunching towels under his back to keep the cushions from being stained crimson. Though maybe not the best idea he had at the time, but when he saw Mitch’s eyes closing his first thought was to grab the cup of water on the coffee table and splash the remnants of it over Mitch’s face to wake him up.

From there, they began working on how to fix the problem at hand. The first point of interest was the actual bullet and the hole it’d left in Mitch’s arm, right on the tail-end of a maple leaf. Abby was looking up quick-fix solutions on her phone, eventually grabbing the underside of Mitch’s arm to slow the sluggish pulse of blood. It took a bit of messing around to find the right artery, but the byproduct was obvious when it did work and they weren’t being sprayed with blood.

They had to work quickly. Mitch was fading in and out, still in shock and aimless, without reason to stay awake.

They tried their best to keep his arm elevated over the back of the couch as they worked. The bullet had eaten away at the skin and was easy to identify because it wasn’t so deep, but easily visible to Mitch who was still borderline hyperventilating with how his arm was held in sight of him at all times.

The graze was superficial, nothing more, but Matt couldn’t afford to be anything but cautious handling him. Sad had wrapped a dish towel around the scrape, some of the blood drenching through. The skin around the graze was clad with dirt and gravel from the scuffle and he knew Mitch would be infection-prone if it wasn’t cleaned.

He made a quick trip to the kitchen to swipe the other cloth and dampen it under the tap’s weak trickle. He lathered the core of it with the green hand soap until he saw bubbles.

Mitch winced when it was applied, although it was necessary in order to clean bacteria. Shouting, “fucking stop, that hurts!” over and over again as he thrashed.

He complained of a burning sensation and tried to edge away but was largely unsuccessful. Matt tried his best not to test the kid’s comfort any more than he had to, but the blood that Abby hadn’t wiped off had crusted along the puckered surface of the wound.

The bandages they’d stored in the bathroom cabinet were bought with the intention of wrapping Matt and his knuckles off after a bad fight. With more bruiser intention on the horizon it sounded like a good investment, but ultimately, they weren’t the go-to fix for a bullet wound. They’d have to make the best with what they had.

“Now I’m glad I didn’t rise up the ranks more in London,” Mitch said through gritted teeth. “This is fucking ridiculous.”

“It’s not fun,” Matt agreed, still dressing the wound. He’d been shot one too many times himself in New York when blocking blows for his employers but always pulled the luck of the draw and healed quickly. A person needed to be strong out here. Without proper medical attention it was always a battle against infection and the weak couldn’t pull through with the same jurisdiction as their robust counterparts.

Because of it, they lacked the extra pair of hands to help them along and when they got to the actual bullet, were left stumped. Although tempting to wrench Mitch’s arm back, give him a balled shirt to bite, and tear it out with his teeth, Abby advised against it. They lacked confidence and it could have very well been corking a major blood vessel, therefore saving his life. Abby eventually took over the process as she re-wrapped the bandage around the bullet, applying continuous pressure.

Without American citizenship, going to a hospital was out of the question. They’d have to brave it out and hope there was nothing wrong internally. The Islanders had already been so accommodating, even with the secrets he’d sold before there was no guarantee they’d help.

He felt completely and utterly helpless but to watch the events unfold like a member of the audience. That night had been sleepless, spent planted in the single armchair watching Mitch whimper in his sleep, occasionally rolling over and onto a sore side that made him cry out.

Matt had failed him, couldn’t keep him safe from the Rangers, much less someone like Auston, in his most desperate hour.

 

**September 13, 2026**

_A Grammar Handbook_ appeared to be one of those compulsory courses that educated its students on business lingo; very much holier than thou but essential in a profession that prided itself on maintaining a pristine reputation.

It lent itself as a credit for business communications and by extension public relations while, according to Mitch, “breaching the gap years between high school and university.” They could slap whatever name they wanted onto it, they were already sucking so many students dry of their funds.

Being an undocumented student, Mitch wasn’t exactly the picture perfect poster child for the university, but damn was he trying. A few applications here, a couple records obscured, and it was like the kid never missed a day of schooling in his life. Auston, being the silver-tongued serpent he was, had a fix for everything so it seemed.

To give the man credit, enrolling Mitch in university resulted in him leaping around like a gazelle, getting him a few weird looks from other students. Matt couldn’t help but smile at the display of childlike wonder. He’d worked hard for this, studied the words in between the lines and slaved to the early hours of the morning until there wasn’t one pinch of content not absorbed. He took this seriously, as he did with most things, and Matt couldn’t not respect him for it.

That morning, the campus had just shouldered a thick rainfall that left the skies a murky grey and the grass a patchy yellow as autumn set in. A chilling breeze swept through their legs, taking their coats with it and sending their scarves flying out behind them. Very scenic, like something out of a movie, except they were jogging out of a public transit station with books shovelled under their arms and that morning’s breakfast still caught between their teeth. Less idealistic in that way.

“Mitch,” Willy tested, book open and his nose shoved into it, “name five common prepositions to use in a sentence when addressing social media.”

“Before, inside, about, behind, and uh," Mitch froze up, licking his front teeth, "without. Or toward.”

“Good, and what are the three ways to construct a coherent paragraph.” Mitch began chewing down on the inside of his cheek, tapping his fingers on the jean seams running up his thigh.

“Uh, good one. I know it needs to be parallel between the beginning and end.” Willy nodded. “They gotta flow and make sense?”

“Yeah, and you also need to deliver strong declarations. Don’t forget that.”

“Right. What else should I study?”

Willy slapped the textbook shut, grinning up with a toothy smile. “Honestly, I think you’re good man. Auston prepped you well.”

“You’re a smart cookie, aren’t you?” Matt interjected, looking back to see Mitch’s face engulfed by his wool scarf because of a particularly gust, but still smiling despite it. His cheeks puffed up twice his size, inadvertently making him look like he'd been stung by a nest of yellowjackets.

“I remember I really loving school before I dropped out in eleven. Always pulled high marks. But not only were we in a bad part of town, we also had no money. So you do the math; can’t afford rent, poor, hungry, what guarantees all three? The decision was obvious.” He sighed. “I still miss it though.”

They entered one of the parking lots on campus with an underground stairwell that would take them to their first classroom without having to brave the wind storm outside for a minute longer. The cut off from the downtown traffic and the blaring horns of St. Georges finally allowed room for proper conversation to take the limelight.

“Well, now you’re here. And you deserve it. I know you’ll be amazing kid.”

“Thanks. Me and Auston had to do a lot of crash coursing to prepare but honestly, it was worth it. Gave us time to talk.” Matt let the conversation drop there, not even attempting to humour a response. He couldn't stomach the couple-y interactions the two shared, because the bad blood between him and Auston was becoming harder to ignore and therefore, so was his contempt.

Willy had tucked his hands into his jacket pockets, falling behind the two as he retrieved his phone and made a show of texting a few of the other entry recruits they had enrolled. Whether they came through on an internship, had falsified SAT or ACT results to help them qualify, or if alumni had called in favours, he had no idea. All he knew was that it wasn’t odd for them to hang around the financial aid agencies, ready to pick up new guys or get up to date with the ones already sucked into the underground.

Mitch was the odd example of someone in the mob not using university to pull some sort of fraud with his future career. For many, it would be a waste of time and money, But Mitch’s interests took all priority here, even if he would have to be chaperoned regardless.

For a while longer, they trudged on, Mitch occasionally drawing circles through the inside’s fogged up glass as they walked by. Outside them, the world continued as it were, unchanging and stale; grey skies dominating everything. It couldn’t be more gloomy even if it were raining, the endless slog of cars backed up so far it was depressing to look at.

The overhead bridge was the one connection point left to conquer before they arrived at the small lecture hall, but even it took longer than necessary because of student traffic, freshmen still working out their routes. Had it not been for them. Mitch would be among them.

In due time, they were feet away from the large metal doors holding the students inside hostage. There was a couple standing not far from them at the foot of the stairs, giving each other a goodbye kiss before walking in opposite directions; one lingered for the next class with her head in her phone. The group had to navigate around her, but when Matt looked back, Mitch was staring after the partner, eclipsed by the light as their shape disappeared through the exit.

“I miss being in love like that,” Mitch sighed, speaking partially to himself. Matt gave him a skeptical look, Willy then looking up from his phone at such a bold statement.

Mitch rushed to defend himself. “Not that Auston isn’t a good lover. He’s terrific. But something without the formality. Where you can kick your feet up and watch cartoons. Auston is always working or I’m at school, we never have time to--I dunno, argue and shit. Not that arguing is good but, y’know.” His shoulders slumped down, face flushed a bitterly red hue. That was an open invitation to drop the conversation and move on, as talking behind Auston's back equated to heresy at that point, but something was itching at Matt. Something that told him if he let the talk die he'd never be able to pick at these particular scabs again.

“Did you ever have a pretty boyfriend back in the day that you made kissy faces at?” he tried to voice, as teasingly as possible to avoid the implication of being nosy.

“I had a girlfriend, a while back." Mitch laughed to himself, as if mocking the idea that he could ever be committed to anyone else.

It did not deter Matt though, who'd never had a girlfriend ever come up in conversation before then. “Huh, didn’t know you swung both ways. Alright, tell me about her.”

In a momentary relinquish of control, Mitch appeared to de-age and finally let go of the baggage he was dragging with him. In his eyes, there was someone else, a callback to easier times.

“Her name was Olivia. She was beautiful. We met at a farmer’s market and had our first date at the humane society and then went to Ikea for cheap meatballs and haddock and chips. She had the loveliest smile and she could take your mind off of anything. We even had an apartment together, near the end.” Mitch's arms wrapped around himself in a small, comprehensible self-hug.

It just about melted Matt's heart. “She sounds lovely. I bet you two had a lot of good times together. Did she leave when she found out about your gang life? A lot of my girlfriends did.”

“I never really got to end it formally.” Mitch shrugged, twiddling with the straps on his backpack, pulling them in uneven lengths.

The notion pricked at the back of Matt's neck. “What do you mean?”

“Our relationship never ended because Auston got there before it did. I took him back, and well, the rest is history.”

If his concern for Mitch and his direct friends and family could skyrocket anymore than it already had, that would be the catalyst.

“Did he go after her?” he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. It wasn't unknown knowledge that mob bosses and grunts would go to extreme lengths to secure their prizes.

Mitch looked appalled, nose scrunched and eyebrows furrowed. “What? Of course not. I was the bad guy Marty. I led him on when I was dating Olivia. I never should have done that.”

“But did he do anything to Olivia?”

Mitch flat out refused to look at Matt, darting a look at Willy, who was still pointedly texting “Look, Auston may be aggressive at times but he has never mentioned Olivia. Or even insinuated anything about her. At all. It’s something he never touched."

"From what I heard, Olivia wasn't anything to call special," Willy interrupted, popping the bubble surrounding the two with a single statement. "She had a real mean streak when she wanted."

"I guess." Mitch didn't appear satisfied with the conviction of his ex-lover, but held his tongue.

"Besides, Mitch you don't have to lie to save face. She knew you had someone and pursued you regardless. That's just scummy. You're better off now."

"Yeah, I guess I am. I love Aus. He's silly and so nice to me.” A different kind of want flashed over Mitch’s face, one tainted with something not entirely pure, but still close enough to be classified as love. “I couldn't ask for anything more."

More than ever, Matt wanted to be back, muttering into Mitch's ear about not giving in daisy-chaining compliments together to dress Auston with. Domesticating the beast helped no one, and playing into the delusion was exactly what Auston and his lackeys wanted. It just excused their behaviour. Unfortunately, that was the one line Mitch wasn't willing to cross. He couldn't muster the strength to stamp his foot down.

They arrived at the classroom with five minutes to spare, during said time they went their separate directions. Matt had learned that despite instructions demanding him otherwise, Willy left when they arrived at their destination to hang out near recruitment and get his own work, leaving Matt and Mitch with a few minutes to themselves to talk. Matt would always make it look as though he was going to leave, and then walk right back and get a few words in.

That day, he didn't even have to lecture Mitch; the man’s head was already bowed. There wasn't anything that could be said between them that hadn't already been spoken. He made use of their alone time to turn Mitch's hat the right way so that he didn't look like a frat boy, pass over his headphones because Mitch had whined about forgetting them on the drive there, and tug him close, hoping that even with his limited power, he would be able to keep him safe. 


	6. November 4, 2026

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > warning for graphic violence, kidnapping, brief torture scene, non-consensual marriage plot

**November 4, 2026**

Two mornings after, he’d woke up with the taste of something decaying on his tongue, fuzzy even after a few smacks as he tried to moisten his cracking lips.

Usually, he’d have a glass of water on his bedside table to purge the dry sensation, but after groping blindly to his left and only managing to hit drywall, he quickly realized he’d accidentally fallen asleep on the armchair for the second time in a row. The thoughts came gushing back like a typhoon; Mitch having denied taking Matt’s spot in the bedroom beside Abby, opting to instead sleep on his back and try not to agitate his wounds. To no surprise, it didn’t go out according to plan and the kid’s pain resistance was tested furthermore.

Everything was unravelling at the seams; without stability in their lives it was like walking on eggshells whenever he left the household. Abby didn’t feel safe, she spent more time than ever looking over her shoulder and the onslaught of cramping and false labour sentences only made more tension implode their already troubling lives. Every minute of the day, he feared infection would be breeding inside of Mitch’s wounds, and if he could, he’d scrub the holes with as much soap as he could manage, delve deep in until Mitch shrieked, if only it granted him that security.

With Tito as a secondary witness to the events that preceded, he had no difficulty trying to sway Tavares into giving him the first day off and fortifying their section of town to prevent more tragedies from occurring. He didn’t want to see their street name broadcasted on the local news, detailing women and children sniped in the crossfire because of some stupid, easily avoidable mistake. He almost lost Mitch because at the worst opportunity, all because he’d reverted back to his old mental state and was too stubborn to listen to reason.

The other men involved, whether they’d been firing or, in Tito’s case, fired at, bounced back relatively easily. Matt, not so much. He couldn’t put his finger on it initially, because it wasn’t like he was shielded from harm in Toronto. He’d never gone a full four months without having something horrible blow up in his face, requiring further damage control and, if it was particularly bad, a visit to the bathroom to create some homemade stitches.

It wouldn’t magically grant him more vacation days either, because Tavares, as usual, was more fascinated with the concept of finalizing more details about the Leafs and how the hierarchy was shifting to make room for new additions. He wasn’t stupid; he knew they were keeping their eye on him until they were sure they could trust him and anything he said could be as backsided as a slap to the face if they suspected he was playing games. He couldn’t blame them--Leafs undercover agents were numerous and worldwide--but it wasn’t the time for wishy-washy allegiances. He needed to know who his allies were and who would protect him when the past inevitably struck back.

He was walking the sideroads to stay out of traffic, which, knowing the city and its collection of insane taxi drivers, was a reasonable concern. The morning commute to something as simple as a parking garage was hellish, so he could burn off the extra calories in lieu of his bad knees. His plan was to stop by a Second Cup and grab a morning roast, then show up just on time to meet his company and not look completely self-conceited. That alone sounded easy enough to do, in part because he knew these streets like a childhood home. Businesses had imported and people had emigrated and immigrated but few things were scarier than him.

The corner store was just in reach, the gray skies and slushy streets making the signage bold colours explode in every direction of his vision. It wasn’t backcountry but yet, only a few cars dared park on the streets on this side of town when it was not broad daylight. He liked to believe the only way the small coffee joint was still employed was because of the drive-through and rerouted traffic from drivers working to evade lateness.

The traffic lights were a bit aways down the road, so he opted to jaywalk and get there quicker. He didn’t think much of it; there were no vehicles around, idle or in motion. The police wouldn’t give a shit, even if recent news reports stated otherwise. It looked like such a harmless action that when he heard the minivan’s tires screeching to a halt right in front of him, he’d have a makeshift heart attack from the adrenaline. The exhaust flashed over him, just as he raised a hand to give the finger for his almost untimely death.

He continued walking, trying to put the encounter behind him as a byproduct of the city’s crowd, when he heard doors slam shut. It sounded like the passenger’s and was about to inquire further when his vision was unlawfully obscured and it felt like something had swallowed his head whole. His first instinct was to howl out for help, thrashing around as two pairs of arms got on him and started throwing punches he was helpless to defend himself from.

He didn’t know which way was up, right, or left, just that he was stumbling around with impaired vision as he was thrown to the ground and kicked once, twice, then lifted up. It took some effort--he could hear the men’s groaning-but the second one of them restrained his hands behind his back the ability to fight back had been suctioned out from him. No amount of rolling or wrist-rubbing would make a difference.

The men’s words were gibberish; he couldn’t hope to understand. All he knew was he was being packaged into the trunk of a van, going somewhere he couldn’t hope to decipher the location of, and it didn’t look pretty; not if the Rangers were hoping to tease a few more answers from him before they shot him in the back of the head.

He spent an unknown amount of time in that mind space, totalling his breaths and counting down the seconds he had left. Every single possibility raced through his head, everything much too real and vibrant to ignore. He wasn’t a crier, never, but he was on the verge with how fast his body was running, trying to cope with the reality of his situation.

He was going to die and there was absolutely nothing he could do to defend himself.

 

It didn’t take long for his attackers to find salvation in some random backyard, most likely. Still unable to see, much less process his surroundings, his only hope of getting out alive was to let them herd him around, pulling him out of the vehicle like the claw of a machine. He’d had to feel around to decide where he should place his foot, and even then the first give of the stone underneath his foot made him stumble and trip, with only his captors being his saving grace. Blind as a bat, he followed their lead up the front yard’s entry steps and into the body of the beast, where he was finally put down on the badly maintained floor and left to rot.

He couldn’t anticipate the strike against his face, nor the kick to his stomach that followed and had him double over, choking on his tongue. Wicked fingers hooked themselves into his matted hair through the bag’s fabric and yanked back until his scalp burned; the pulling continuing until he couldn’t feel anything and his throat was bared for two hands to wrap around it and choke. Terrible, gargling retching noises rose to the challenge, tearing out of his esophagus with such intensity that he was sure it was the equivalent of chugging Clorox until the skin of his throat burned away.

Claw marks tore up his arms, a heinous laugh caking the action without subtly. The attacker, whoever it was, was intent on ripping every individual hair out of his head and drain his blood until he a white sheet to toss into a shallow grave. Throughout the shapes and colours his brain was conjuring there was a constant; an image of positivity that remained even when he was in a euphoric haze of adrenaline and oxytocin.

Part of himself wanted to block out the images of Abby in the apartment, with his-- _their_ baby in her arms, smiling at him from the door frame in a circle of daisies and generic-ass Disney cliches that he couldn’t find the heart to be mad at. He couldn’t lose the will to keep fighting, because that spike of pain was nothing in comparison to the hurt of never having that baby’s eyes on his. Of knowing what he was like as a father--what he was capable of and having that loving relationship. If anything, the thought of taking their little hand in his made the next punch that rattled his teeth more bearable, because he was doing it for someone else.

The abrupt end to the torment came when the bag over his head was thrown off, catching the edge of his tooth while he was screaming and yanking hard enough to have him sobbing. The reveal of Auston came of no surprise, but he was devoid of the composed persona he radiated around the business elites and small business owners that’d have him walking out with a wad of cash in his back pocket. That Auston was erased from the chalkboard, drawn in here was a monster disguised as a man.

A snarling, drooling monster with tousled hair and a navy blue blazer. The eyes of a human were replaced with an animalistic pair of slitted pupils and bloodshot scleras. He was pacing back and forth on the concrete, dishevelled in every sense of the word. One hand was rooted in his hair, tugging just as hard as he’d been with Matt’s and with less spacing between the torment to let the pain register. It was there as moral support, to fool himself into thinking he felt nothing when deep down he was empty. He fooled everyone. Everyone but Matt.

“Where the fuck is he?” Auston shrieked, like a great horned owl, or better yet, some mockery of a trumpet blaring nonsense hoping someone else would perceive it as music. “Where the fuck is my husband?”

Self-preservation flew out the window at the question, mainly because that compulsion also carried over to Mitch, and he, in this case, took priority.

“Who the fuck--he’s not your husband, you fucking psycho!” he yelled back, getting a hook to the face that came accompanied with two or more brother punches for the heck of it. Auston was taking his aggression out on the first thing he saw, like the petulant brat he was. He tolerated it, even when he believed to have felt a tooth or so dislodge in the ensuing attack. It guaranteed a mouthful of blood to get coughed up the next time he tried to exhale and found his nostrils blocked by more blood clotting.

“You fucker. You’re a two-faced little _cunt,_ Martin! You fucking stole _my_ husband from me you son of a bitch. If you don’t tell me where he is right now I’m going to plant a bullet deep into your skull.” And to prove his point he yanked his pistol out of its hostler, cocked it, and jabbed it at Matt’s temple with conviction. The metal head smushed the skin and muscles it met as it made a journey around his face, carving in hateful little symbols Auston was intent on burying deep inside of him alongside his insecurities.

“You’re a sociopath. You don’t deserve him,” Matt spat, a glob of saliva and blood hitting the toe cap of Auston’s shoe and turning the white sheen a glistening crimson. Auston didn’t even flinch, just looked down in disdain, lip curling up.

“You didn’t answer the question. _Where is my husband_?” he outright growled, using the pistol to tip Matt’s head back, exposing his jugular. “If you don’t talk then I’ll kill you, and then I’ll kill your pretty little wife and take him anyways.”

“You’re--you’re not married,” was all he could say, because for the first time that deep-seated fear awoke in him, breeding more hatred in its wake.

“We _were_. We were _going to be_. Just him and me. He’d say yes, I know he’d say yes, and we’d have our wedding. And then you came along. You little shit. I knew you were trouble and I still gave you a chance. And you fucking took what was _mine_!” He was unravelling at the seams, and Hyman noticed too because he was walking over to steady Auston’s shoulder with a single hand.

“I just don’t see how it’s fair Martin,” Auston said, after taking a few deep breaths. “You’re allowed to have your fairytale romance. You have your wife, I never interfered. I gave you well-wishes even. But I never told her about you, or ran off to have some,” he pinched the bridge of his nose “ _illicit_ affair. And you took him here. To New-- _fucking--_ York, like the people here weren’t shit-seeking vultures, you fucking asshole.”

“If you truly loved him, you’d let him--“

“Oh, don’t give me that shit Martin,” Auston bared his teeth. “I did this because I loved him. He would have been on the streets without me.” Matt, with the beginning of his black eye and busted lip, could only gawk at the sheer, unadulterated stupidity.

“He would be with his girlfriend. Who _loves_ him.” Another punch. He heard the crack before the pain embedded itself in his nerves.

“He doesn’t have a girlfriend. _We_ were together.”

“You were a hookup!” Matt screamed, hoarse. “A fucking hookup! He didn’t think twice about you! He never loved you! You are nothing to him! Just look at how easily he moved on--look at how fast he ran. Because if you ever treated him like a decent human being he wouldn’t spend a goddamn _minute_ around you.”

Punching and slapping evolved into flat-out stomping, until Matt’s arm twisted awkwardly in its restraints and the press from the bottom of Auston’s shoe confirmed the injury and bone fracture. A squeal budded in the heart of Matt’s throat, but he couldn’t muster the energy to speak it without his throat catching and shredding the noise; remaining only was the scratchy pain from trying to speak. The stomping commenced and ended with objection from Hyman, who, even with his maniacal thinking and lack of empathy found the audacity to hold Auston’s back and physically drag him away.

There was a manner of whispered yelling and a vicious back and forth as Matt gurgled on fluids swirling inside of his mouth. Focus was impossible to maintain even with the God-given break forcing on him a second to recuperate and anticipate the next round of blows. His right arm slumped beside him, knocked out of its socket and horribly deformed.

Auston’s finely combed persona was unravelling. When he realized Matt wasn't going to accommodate this needs, he buckled down and had to try a different tactic. The new one involved him clawing again at Matt’s chin until there were fiery red streaks painting the skin, aligning their faces together until it seemed their bangs touched.

“Fine. Have it your way. I’ve waited this long,” he growled. It was the exit strategy, stabbing into Matt’s sense of invincibility with every word before finally giving way for Auston to abandon him there, leaving him to speculate his own demise.

 

The duration of time spent in captivity fluctuated between drooling on himself because of boredom and cranking his neck back so that the smell of Auston’s pretty-boy cologne didn’t infest his nostrils, the closeness the other man would resort to outright terrifying. There were no boundaries between them, Auston committed to making sure his presence was as pronounced as could be as he sickeningly detailed everything he would do to make sure Matt grieved over his decisions.

With no stimuli, no people, no conversations, it was like sinking in quicksand. The hours slogged past with nothing changing, his muscles beginning to lock up because they hadn’t been moved in what felt like days. In a way, it was almost worse that he knew now who was holding him hostage, because having Auston around only intensified problems, and made the wait more detrimental to his mental physique.

Sometimes, Auston would sit close by and mutter every way he’d like to hurt Matt. Speak of terrible acts of cruelty not just against him, but also his wife. All in the name of love. Auston bided his time, not giving out too many details and never playing all his cards at once. There was a mix of hesitation, him wanting so badly to have Mitch back in his line of vision but also wanting to keep Matt under his thumb, ensuring the details he got were not fraudulent. Because it was only so easy trying to evade giving out information before the threats became too personal and he was genuinely afraid about getting out alive.

He couldn’t only tolerate so much before he wanted to slice his ears off. Started humming to himself until they’d had to gag him, rocked back and forth to get the blood pumping again. He’d never been waterboarded but he had been tortured, had his hands sliced so badly the scars would never heal. People had bruised his ribs and had him coughing up blood because of kicks to the chest and abdomen so he wasn’t a stranger to pain. This was a different kind of poison, but poison nonetheless.

That day, or that afternoon, it could be a week’s time and he wouldn’t know, Auston was in and out making calls, eating delicacies and food under Matt’s nose until his mouth salivated and he wanted to strike the ignorant asshole across the face. What he wouldn’t give for just a single bite, to shut his stomach up for one minute so he could actually think about how to get out of signing his own obituary.

“You know,” Auston said around a mouth of orange-ish noodles, “I always liked you. You seemed very down to earth and level-headed. Now though, I’m just hoping your kid has the sense to not follow in your footsteps.” Another conversation, another guilt-seeking missile targeted for his heart.

He’d long since learned Auston was like a mosquito foundering about in pitch-black darkness. Swatting did nothing but establish fear; you just had to ignore it and get back to sleep.

But Auston wasn’t making it easy on him. He leaned forward, the smell of garlic and onions heavy on his breath as he exhaled over Matt’s forehead. “If he ever makes it, I suppose. What a shame he’s never going to know his father because of how stubborn you are.”

“There’s going to be a special place in hell for you, Matthews,” Matt gritted out.

Auston was virtually unaffected by the taunt. He shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe, but I’m not concerned with the realm of the dead. You should be. I find it hard to believe at one point I was going to show you mercy, because it appears you won’t even respond to the threat of violence.”

Matt snorted, bitterness cumbersome like a monkey on his back. “Don’t pretend for me Matthews. I know you too well. You were always going to kill me.”

Auston tsked, “no I wasn’t. If you are willing to cooperate, surely I would love to spare myself the energy of corralling my husband by having you cut some corners. The only question is, would you do that?”

Of course, Matt shook his head in protest, because he wasn’t going to make this easy on Auston.

It was the expected answer; Auston deflated with a sincere little smile gracing his face. “See? Even when you have the power to create change, you won’t use it. You couldn’t protect Mitch and now you won’t be able to protect Abby. I can’t guarantee my men will spare them when they break into your little hideaway but who will know in the end--definitely not you.”

Matt spit a glob of saliva at Auston, the bead missing by a hair and absorbing into the concrete floor underneath them. “Fuck you. You say you love families but you’d kill mine.”

“Well, you’ve left me no choice.” Auston set his take-out food down beside him, still in close-enough proximity that Matt was gifted with the aroma of it. He leaned in close again, baring his teeth like a diseased animal. “Because right now, you have two options. One, you can help me out and I’ll let you and your family go. Two, you can resist and I will kill you, your wife, and your child. You’re in control Martin, so smarten up or risk losing it all.”

He was at a crossroads, because Abby was his everything. And Mitch was a kid. Not his kid, but still close to him. Sometimes, you met someone and just knew. That, for him, was Mitch. Growing up on the streets had helped him grow more attuned to those given the shaft, and Mitch was no exception. But despite it all, he had this shine to him that most people in his position wouldn’t. That little spark of humanity that Matt could cling to. It was therapeutic and at the same time empowering, because someone like that needed him.

A close friend versus his own family. His firstborn versus someone he saw as a son. His wife of seven years versus his friend of nine months.

His resistance was weakening and Auston could see him beginning to fold into himself and increased his prodding. “Besides, let’s say you did get away, where would you go? Any money you make is probably going to the underground and I know you’re not going to be able to find work otherwise. You might be able to support you and your wife, but two other individuals? How would you ever make ends meet?”

Matt kept his head low, pushing the saliva back in his mouth as he tongued as his gums, willing for something to distract the train of thought dislodging.

“He has-- _had_ transferable credits going into university. Of course, I’ve learned my lesson and there’s no way he’s going back, but think about it carefully Martin. What can you give him that I can’t in spades? If he lives with you, what’s his quality of life going to be?”

“So what,” Matt squeezed his eyes shut, “you expect us to open the door and just walk in, no questions asked? You’re not even supposed to be here.”

Auston glowered at him from above, most of the malice dripping away as he realized his target was becoming more malleable. “I know, but I don’t need to go there. They just need to come here. Look, we can settle this like adults. You can go back to your wife and I get my husband back. Everybody wins and no one has to die.”

No one has to die. That should have been a godsend but held the baseless assumption that Auston was going to keep his word. He wasn’t obligated to and even if Mitch did come, there was nothing stopping him from blowing Matt’s brains out when his back was turned.

“I don’t know where he is, and even if I did, he wouldn’t be alone. He’s protected out here,” he said, feebly pulling whatever excuse he could out of his pocket to look for another solution. The last resort was that if something happened to him, Tavares would pick up the slack. Those were the terms of their agreement, however weak.

Auston snapped his teeth at him, the clicking noise that followed shocking him into stiffness. “Liar, you know where he is.” Auston retrieved Matt’s cell phone out from the inside of his suit pocket, subsequently turning it on even with its low battery life and shoving it under Matt’s nose. “You’re going to call Abigail and ask her and my lovely _husband_ to meet you here.” His tongue quilted the word husband, knowing how badly it stung at Matt. “You’re going to tell them that you ran into trouble and that they have to meet you here. If you say anything about me, she dies.”

Teeth chattering, Matt looked for the first opening he could. “What if I just don’t say anything at all?’

“Well,” Auston smiled, “same outcome. But don’t let that change your mind. I’m just about to call in some favours so if you’re going to make up your mind, best you do it now.”

Matt switched his focus from the phone to the ground, debating his options. There was a ticking time clock hung over his head, counting down the seconds before Auston would yank his phone away and go ahead with his previous plan. That being to bring destruction to the apartment, leaving bloodied corpses in his wake as he prepared to swing his boyfriend around in his arms, rejoicing their reunion.

It was selfish, but life with Auston wasn’t exactly going to equatable with death. He wasn’t going to hurt Mitch, just coddle him a bit and maybe slap him around. Which was terrible, no lie, but Auston wasn’t a serial killer. In truth, his child’s life, as well as his wife’s, didn’t need to be sacrificed for something as stupid as a schoolboy crush gone wrong.

A month ago, he’d punch himself for trying to rationalize something so despicable horrible. But him a month ago wasn’t holed up in a dark room, starving and without hope of survival. Words alluded him, he had to nod to signify his willingness. Looking Auston in the eye was out of the question; he was far too ashamed.

“Perfect,” Auston purred. “Tell me the password and the false contact name you have your wife under, and I will put her on speakerphone.” Trying to tame the shake in his body, Matt nodded to comply.

He spelt the password out under his clattering teeth, watching as Auston filled in the text and then scrolled through the names and faces, many of which were sporting avatars pulled from Google and randomized names to protect their identity. An old trick, but one that could save time in a worst-case scenario. Like this.

Auston rung Abby up as quickly as humanly possible, pressing the speakerphone button and turning the phone around so that the audio input was facing Matt. His baleful gaze was trained on Matt, waiting him out with a glint that promised further retribution should he speak out.

“Marty!” Abby screamed the second the line connected. She sounded absolutely frantic and he could feel his heart clench in sympathy for the absolute panic she must have endured. “You’re alive! Oh, thank God. Where the hell are you?” She was shrill with worry, nearly ear-piercing.

“H-Hi Abby,” he spat out, clearing his throat. “I, uh, ran into some trouble. You need to leave right now.” Auston’s brow raised and Matt tried to placate him with a nullified stare, hoping his eagerness didn’t sound like an invitation to escape.

“Leave? What are you talking about?” Abby asked, in confusion. A bark could be heard in the background, alongside the clatter of dishes and pans slamming into each other.

His pant legs felt alive with spiders and insects crawling along the skin, raising the hair as he sought out an answer. “T-The Rangers, they grabbed us. They’re coming for you; it’s not safe. You need to get here with Mitch right now.” Auston left his side for a minute, coming back with a pad of paper and a black sharpie that’d been collecting dust on a side table.

“Oh my God,” she squawked. “Are you okay? Where are you?” Matt blanked, not really sure where they were. Luckily, Auston finished writing his message just in time to save him, turning the lined piece of paper around so that Matt could read it.

“I’m at,” he squinted, “400 E 202nd Street. Back entrance--I mean, come in the back entrance. There’s people. Outside,” he finished lamely.

“Back entrance?” she questioned. “Okay. Do I bring anything?”

“No. Just come right now.” He kept his voice urgent. “Bring Mitch too. We can get the stuff later.”

“Okay. I’ll see you when I see you, then. Can I call you when we get close, just to be sure?”

“Of course honey. I love you. Drive safe.”

“I’m going to catch a cab,” she reminded him, but it only escalated the surge of fear curling into his body. “See you soon. Love you.”

“Love you,” he said again, just to be sure. If it was the last thing he said, he wanted it to be something true. Something real that he could clinch on to.

Abby hung up seconds later, the end call tone like a death sentence. He was taken back to reality in an instant, the clammy, oppressive lighting and dampen corners falling in amongst themselves. The black mold he was glazing his lungs with that had clustered on the roof tiles in splotches. Auston was still poised at his front, leering down with little to no subtly as to how much he was enjoying the mental torture Matt was putting himself through.

The opportunity to gloat was first and foremost, but Auston was able to show some restraint by strolling over to the only bits of furniture in the room, a worn out futon, and plunking himself down.

Auston kicked his feet up, twirling his hand like a gentleman would upon introducing himself to a lady. “And now, we wait.”

 

**October 9, 2026**

Part of him suspected something was up the second the elevator arrived on their floor and he wasn’t greeted with an armful of Mitch, Auston wearily attached to his side with a coffee in a thermos. But the real kicker was turning the bend of the living room and being greeted with a dishevelled Auston locked outside of the master bedroom.

It was a bit weird to see a man of his stature cooing at the other side of the door, one hand fixated around the handle and testing its hold every couple of seconds. Matt wasn’t close enough to understand what he was saying to win Mitch’s affections back, but it was without a doubt a lover’s spat and a bad one at that. At the revelation Matt froze up, unsure of what to do with his hands.

“Mouse, please?” Auston spoke up. “Open the door.” A bang could be heard from the other side, forcing Auston to wrench his head away out of instinct.

“Fuck off,” Mitch replied, muffled by the door blocking him off. Mitch wasn’t one to really voice his anger, but at that moment in time the anger was still raw. Something had been picked at, and from the looks of it, it was dastardly.

He decided to make himself known, clearing his throat to signal his arrival. Auston turned slowly, almost ominously, and with the intent of a vicious predator. The second they locked eyes, a bolt of electricity passed between them. Not a spark by any means, but a full-on lethal zap that contained more anger than Matt knew what to deal with. It was made worse by his confusion, because watching Auston’s hands clamp up, almost as if ready to hit him with little provocation, made him fear for his life.

“Come with me,” Auston said quietly, taking Matt by the arm and stomping both of them down the hallway before he could object or twist out of the grip. Auston was moving as such a brisk pace that Matt’s feet would catch underneath him and he’d be at risk of falling and slamming his head, but, as if some stupid, God-forsaken angel was looking out for him, death didn’t come easily.

They marched over to the opening of the living room before Auston finally deflated a bit and put his frustrations into words.

“How did he find out?” Auston asked, eyes frostbitten with vehement rage. “I never told him. No one else knew.” He was so vivid with his emotions; not a second passed without his nose scrunching or hair rising up like it had a mind of its own.

“Tell him about what?” He risked looking back at the door, his suspicions piqued but not confirmed after a conversation he’d had with Mitch yesterday evening.

Auston looked at the door, then back at him. “Our marriage, Matt,” he barked. “You told him that we were _married_.” The truth pierced him again, wounds as fresh as they’d been when he’d first had the truth revealed to him and he’d had to cope with the aftermath of knowing that it would ruin Mitch’s life.

Feigning crocodile tears, he weakly protested a “what? I didn’t tell him,” the words leaving his tongue like acid. “I swear I didn’t. I just found out yesterday evening when I got home.” It’d become an inner-circle-wide phenomenon, which was something he’d had to hide behind for the time being.

“Of course,” Auston said, but he didn’t sound convinced with Matt’s defence. In desperation, Matt began to recall the events leading up to the reveal, hoping there would be something there to hold onto.

Very few people talked to Mitch par from Willy and him. Unless he said the truth circulated back, which was very unlikely given how slow news travelled between inferiors. The only other person Mitch interacted with was Polak and Hyman, and the former was left out of so many discussions that I’d be stupid to assume they’d had a civil conversation, much less that even now Polak knew.

“I think Zach told him,” Matt replied shakily. “At school, when he visited us to see Willy.” It wasn’t a _complete_ lie.

Auston appeared to ridicule the thought, tapping his foot against the tiles. “So you mean to say Zach just walked up to Mitch and congratulated him; after knowing for months he only _now_ decided to whistleblow?”

“Well,” Matt cast his eyes elsewhere, knowing he was a terrible fucking liar, “he wasn’t talking to Mitch, he was talking to me.” He tried not to press too hard; Auston and Zach were friends. Anything too severe and Auston would back out. “Just joking around about me being a best man because we were so close, and I think Mitch might’ve overheard. He was really distant after that.”

It did enough, Auston looked challenged by the statement. It was just buying time though, because Matt knew his retconned information would be fact-checked, and the contradiction would stand out. It was his job to make sure he wasn’t around to meet the back of Auston’s hand. Or gun.

There was no getting around it; he was in the line of fire. Perfectly remembered having the word come back to him and his first instinct being to tell Mitch because he couldn’t believe was he was hearing. It was so practically absurd that he’d buckled down in his seat upon hearing Hyman babble about wedding shenanigans because he refused to believe for a second that Mitch would have agreed to such a ridiculous request of his. Frankly put, he was appalled that anyone else would buy into the lucrative nature of the arrangement in the first place.

The decrepit truth stung worse than a hornet sting, but to let it so unspoken was out of the question. If he’d known the outcome would be Mitch holed up in his room, spitting insults though, he might’ve chosen to word his findings in a more bubble-wrapped, safety-net fashion to keep Mitch from revolting.

Auston’s expression was soon cannibalized by something more depraved, opening his arms up until he was directing Matt back towards the door. “Well, if you didn’t tell him, then get him out of the room.” He reminded Matt of a bullfighter, waving red colours that only provoked danger to take him by the horns and flip him.

Daunted, he took in the sight of the door’s barricade and gulped down his suspicions, knowing he was unable to get a message through to Mitch to not blow his cover. Auston was not satisfied with leaving them be, shadowing Matt’s movements up to the plane of wood and then some.

He knocked twice on the slim door’s bodice, all throughout the persistent angry squeaks coming from Mitch, who’s heat radiated through and warmed Matt’s knees. Despite being under the scrutiny of Auston and theoretically whatever he said coming at his expense later on, coming up with something to say beforehand hadn’t crossed his mind, leaving him to wing his only lead.

“Hey Mitchy,” he started, trying to smooth the creases in his voice to make himself more approachable. “It’s Marty here. We good to talk one-on-one, like we always do?”

Mitch didn’t hesitate even a second. “I know Auston is with you,” he stated bitterly. A limb of his, likely his elbow, knocked on the door for emphasis. Over his shoulder, leaning in through his periphery view, Auston was perched, arms crossed and eyes trained on Matt. The slitted pupils carved into him, waiting for his response with baleful little full moons.

“No, he’s hanging around the kitchen,” he lied. “Can you just tell me why you’re locked in the room? We’re going to be late for Psych 101 if we’re battling morning traffic.”

“You know why I’m locked in the room,” Mitch croaked and Auston visibly livened at that, further proving his hunch a reality. Matt willed his hands to stop sweating and for the hair on the back of his neck to tame.

After giving himself a second to compose himself, he pressed his mouth close to the door. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you know. Everybody knows. Why didn’t you tell me that I was getting married before?” Matt took a breather then, his cover not entirely blown. “I thought I could trust you to keep me safe.”

Matt scoured his headspace for the words to comfort him, but all he could manage was a flat, “I know it’s hard, but what will this accomplish?”

“I’m not ready to be married,” Mitch said. Something about the way his voice curled made him sound so young, even though Matt reminded himself on the daily that his youthful complexion was just a facade.

“You have to come out eventually,” Auston intercepted, replacing Matt’s position to be as close as humanly possible to the man on the other side. “You need to eat; you already finish so little as it is. It’s no fun being trapped in a room.”

“Go back to the kitchen!” Mitch rose his voice back to yelling volume. At that, Matt expected Auston to burst into flame and will the door to meltdown of its own accord. Backtalk wasn’t a run-of-the-mill thing in the mob, regardless of location or familiarity. But, to his ultimate surprise, Auston did none of those things. Like a muzzled mutt, he took a step back and crumpled up under Mitch’s demands, but did not leave the crevice. Matt resumed the dominant position.

“It’s me,” he clarified, before continuing, “tell us how we can fix this. I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”

“You’re not the problem Marty.” Auston, to his credit, had the sensibility to look ashamed. He shouldn’t have to supplement Auston’s guilt and take the fall, but then again, he got paid good money for his position.

“Come on, this is stupid. No one wins. Abby and I fight all the time; if it makes you feel any better. I find it’s best to talk it out. Attack it head-on. So, if you want, we can--” The door threw itself open in front of his very eyes, revealing a downtrodden, half-dressed Mitch stumbling out like a mutant zombie. If the bags under his eyes didn’t undermine his sleep, then the mussed hair would, and that was all before he’d realized Mitch was sporting a few good bruises on his fist.

Matt opened his mouth, trying to filter Mitch’s anger out through a barrage of filler words, but Mitch was one step ahead of him--literally. He shouldered his way around Matt, not acknowledging his presence beyond detouring around him so they wouldn’t smack foreheads, and stood up to Auston despite how his shoulders were quivering.

It was different, having someone with so much aptitude fold, but he supposed being faced with the same determination Mitch holstered was enough to make one back down. Auston sure did, or at least participated in a mockery of it. The man’s jagged edges smoothed out, hardened expression once guarding a multitude of secrets and opinions laid completely bare for Mitch to see.

“Mitchy,” Auston drawled, reaching forward to take his boyfriend in his arms. Mitch rejected it with a simple shove, still refusing to bend to his demands. Upon finding out his affections were being denied, a bit of selfish cruelty leaked back into Auston’s slanted eyes.

“Mitch--”

“Don’t. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t know what you were thinking but if you really think so lowly of me that you would go behind my back like that and abuse my trust, then I guess I don’t know you as well as I think I do.” From the corner of his vision, Matt could see Mitch’s cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk’s. It was expertly complemented by the redness of his face, a byproduct of shame and anger brewing inside of him.

“It wasn’t you,” Auston said, despicably sad. “The timing just wasn’t right.”

Mitch shook his head fiercely, the collar of his shirt clinging on for dear life as he jostled himself about. “That’s no excuse. You can’t do that without asking me. No proposal. Nothing. You didn’t even get me a ring,” he yelled.

Auston surprised both of them dropped to his knees then and there, looking up at Mitch like one would a divine entity. He cautiously took both of Mitch’s smaller hands in his and guided them to the breast of his blazer where he held them firm. “I’ll get you a ring, I’ll get you the most beautiful ring I can find. I’m so, so sorry.”

Quivering, Mitch tried to snatch his hands back but was thoroughly pinned. “Why did you do it?” he asked instead. “I might not’ve said yes right now, but maybe later.”

“It was to do with the mob,” Auston replied. “I know right now you don’t want to be affiliated, so I was planning on telling you later after school. I made a mistake. I confided in the wrong people, but I have every intention of giving you a proposal and a ring to call your own.”

It made Matt want to heave, because the sweet-tint to his voice just didn’t match the persona he’d applied to the boss. And yes, boss, because Auston was looking to have secured himself another hefty promotion, and one that Matt didn’t want to stick around for. This was just one of many reasons why Matt was determined to distance himself from his employer; as with most people, the more he learned about them the more he wanted to purge what he knew and move on. For the sake of his sanity.

“And when you do, you can ask me again,” Mitch spoke firmly. “But not a second before.” His fingers did twitch, then curl around the tufts from Auston’s attire to ground himself.

Mitch wasn’t furious anymore, but the enamour often associated with his interactions with Auston wasn’t there either. He was plausibly entertained, fine for the time being. It wasn’t an open and shut case where a few kisses to the boots would stitch back the relationship. Auston had majorly fucked up. Matt hoped he burned for it.

“I will,” Auston reassured him. “We’ll have the most beautiful wedding, just what you deserve.”

“I hope so.” Mitch bent there and accepted a chaste kiss on the cheek from Auston when the man returned to standing at full height. It was by no means a completion, just a compromise. Auston took it with stride regardless, holding Mitch close and running his fingers up and down his side as if to reassure himself that he still had him in his arms.

It was a private moment for the both of them to indulge in, so Matt took his leave there. They were going to be so horribly late anyway, may as well nab himself some finger food and work back from there.

That being said, duty pried Auston out from Mitch’s hands before long. There was only so long Auston could put off shenanigans both legal and illegal before he was called into question, and so he left, albeit reluctantly. Even before he had a foot out the door he was pressing kisses into Mitch’s collar, working against the uphill struggle to win back Mitch’s favour. Whether or not it was working was arguable; Mitch was playing along but Matt knew better than anyone that he could feed a public facade while never actually believing in it.

Matt didn’t waste a second, backing Mitch into a corner so that he could squander all the make-belief happening between them and drag out the truth from between Mitch’s teeth. Mitch didn’t take too kindly to his advances and was quick to bolster him aside and make a break for the kitchen to grab a clean glass to fill with water.

Matt decided to try his luck through verbal warfare, despite the odds. “I can’t watch you live like this--“ he started, but Mitch shot him down with a slicing glare that cut at the skin of his argument.

“Don’t,” Mitch declared. The force behind his words could’ve given Matt whiplash, mainly because he thought Mitch would be grateful for outside intervention. The hostility masking his expression was a bold look on Mitch’s levelled features.

He worked to make his confusion known, lowering Mitch’s glass with one hand and using the same hand to tilt his chin up and make them lock eyes. “What?”

A rush of breath streamed out between the gaps in Mitch’s teeth. “Don’t you dare say, ‘I can’t watch you live like this anymore.’”

“W-What’s wrong with--“

“A long time back, Auston said the exact same thing to me. He said he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ let me live my beat-down life anymore. And you know what happened to me? I was fucking kidnapped. So don’t you dare try and take me away. I won’t let you.” He stepped back, voice growing increasingly more frantic. He looked like a beaten dog, kicked one too many times and on the brink of a mental breakdown.

“Mitch, I want to take you away, but not to hurt you,” Matt reasoned, trying to grab him by the shoulder but getting knocked off. “He married you without your consent, what about that is not creepy? You need to get out.”  

He was making some leeway, but it wasn’t enough. When Mitch began to cave in, he pressed further. “Yes, I know you’re scared and I know Auston did a horrible thing to you but I only have good intentions. This is inhumane, this is cruelty. If he loved you, he wouldn’t have caged you.”

Something motivating Mitch’s anger snapped, and he aged a few years as he mellowed out, the fight bled dry. It was like watching a human undergo metamorphosis, going from a monster to a vulnerable lamb in seconds.

“Just ignore me.” Mitch’s hands carded through his hair, flattening the puffs standing up from the scalp. “I say a lot of things that I don’t mean.”

The cold vacuum of uncertainty bit and tore at them until it was physically uncomfortable to keep watching Mitch. He looked away, flustered, trying to come up with something to say to supplement the purgatory set between them. but Mitch was still operating as normal. He gulped down the water, walked around the counter, and only then made a valid effort to engage Matt of his own accord.

“We should go get breakfast,” he said with a vapid little smile. “I’m hungry.”

It was the best compromise he was going to get. “Okay,” he said back, adding in a simple display of expression of his own for good measure. Both of them had to have known it wasn’t a resolution. The problem was being put on the back burner to fester. If Auston thought he was going to puppet his demands though, he had another thing coming.


	7. November 5, 2026

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God it's finally done; and also not proofed by anyone but me and Grammarly. I feel like I just need to get it posted and then get the small ones after because I've kept you all waiting long enough. Hoo boy, this series has been draining but fun. I hope you'll all enjoy the final chapter!
> 
> A big thanks to Ells, Honey, Jiggy, and Finny for their support throughout the writing process. Another big thanks to everyone that's read, commented, or supported this story in one way or another. That includes the wonderful people that contacted me on Tumblr; I love all of you! May this be everything you wanted and more. Cheers!

**November 5, 2026.**

There were voices singing at full volume as the door opened, upbeat and all too familiar. Matt choked on a sob, saliva soaking the fabric holding his mouth open. He was helplessly but to sit and watch from where he was bound, Auston pacing like a rabid animal in front of him. They still sounded relatively happy, which told Matt that he wasn’t cooped up in some prison cell. Of course, they’d choose something beyond suspicion, a perfect honeytrap for naive victims.

They thought they were meeting him to move somewhere else, maybe a nicer apartment with proper heating. They had no idea that they were stepping willingly into a lion’s den, and that said lion was unhinged and hungry for revenge after months of deceit and, in his little mind, treachery.

Slowly, Matt saw the ticking clock morph Auston into the predator he’d always known existed. No intervention from close friends made a difference; he was set on a course of no return, that much had been obvious when he’d been preparing Matt for the slaughter.

Back after the call, the state Matt was left in was downright pathetic. Auston had revelled in it all the way, every so often looking down the hall as he expected their guests.

“What are you going to do to him?” Matt had asked, just as Auston was fixing the gag, former Leafs colleagues slithering by them to take a place by the back wall as backup.

“I don’t know yet,” Auston said, a little hum sparking like static in the back of his throat.

“I know you’ve been thinking about it.” The knotted gag was pulled in between his teeth mid-sentence. It held his mouth open, but the cruel irony was that his useless tongue couldn’t flap and make words.

“Yeah, maybe I have.” Auston bellowed. “But I haven’t decided. Don’t worry though,” he slapped Matt’s cheek, “I won’t be hurting him. Just fixing the mistakes you made.” He didn’t talk about Mitch getting shot, but Matt had a feeling it crossed his mind by how his fingers twitched on his nape.

In the present, he was less willing to believe Auston wasn’t going to follow through on his many threats much less that he would make it out alive at the end. Mitch’s steps were enough to claw out Auston’s humanity and replace it with something far more animalistic. He doubted the mobster could restrain himself enough to not devour Mitch whole when the entryway lured them both in.

The shapely, more feminine intonation he heard could be none other than Abby. She’d come even when he telepathically voiced his protests. She’d come with _both_ of them; their child joined along for the ride. None of them would make it out alive and the sound of her feet gradually becoming louder made his groaning and panting all the more frantic to stop the inevitable.

He could see the second Mitch was able to realize he’d been led into a trap, Abby the kid’s face ballooned with horror upon stumbling onto the arch. His legs locked up and he swayed, his top half unbalanced and rickety because of the placement of his feet. Abby, who’d been following head down, smacked right into him and was grounded right in the situation, one hand instinctively falling to her belly to protect the unborn child.

If he could speak, Matt would be shrieking for them to run like hell to the closest police station. Not that it would do any long-term healing; the police were more corrupt there than any place in the country, but that momentarily glimpse of safety before Tavares or someone better could pick them up would ensure they’d at least slip out of Auston’s grasp before he could do lethal harm.

But they didn’t run, because as much as Mitch was a skittish deer, it looked as though he only had eyes for Matt, scrunched up on the floor trying to inch away from Auston’s nails. In doing so, he only made Auston angrier, and the second Mitch had torn his eyes away Auston was back again, pacing in front like the vengeful lover he was, trying to breach the gap between them. Mitch wasn’t as inclined to make leeway for him as he would before though, and stepped back as he shielded Abby with his body.

Auston’s composure steadily returned, and he took his place behind Matt wordlessly. Both hands clamped down on Matt’s shoulders, angling him forward so that there was no way to turn away from the scene in front of him. The standoff made Matt’s blood boil, because all his eyes could zero in on was his wife’s swollen belly, also targeted by practically every other person in the room.

Strangely enough, it wasn’t Auston that brought the deadlock to a close. Mitch stepped forward like a sacrificial maiden, but his face was hardened into an expression truly unlike something Matt had ever seen on him before. He stopped only a few paces away from Auston but left enough breathing space between him and Auston so that the latter couldn’t reach out and snag him away.

“Let him go,” was all he said. Up close, Matt could see his wrists trembling, fingers curled into his palms and hooked into the skin. They’d finally grown out, could be used as a weapon if he so wanted. Behind him, Auston bristled, shirt cuffs riding up with how much he shook.

“You’re coming home,” Auston replied, voice hard enough to cut through diamond. “Right now.”

“No,” Mitch said, the room becoming so quiet one could hear a pin drop.

The squabble he’d expected didn’t come to pass. He could see some of the guys on the sidelines looking at each other, baffled at the blatant refusal. Auston didn’t say anything; he was like a computer lagging a few seconds behind to process the new information. The second the information got through, his hand slammed down on Matt’s neck, folding him over like origami.

“What do you mean no? You’re not the one calling the shots here!” Auston unsheathed and subsequently jabbed his gun into the back of Matt’s head. From his spot face-down, nose squished against the floor, Matt could hear Abby's howling, and could only squeeze his eyes closed when the gun removed itself and was likely pointed at the both of them in retaliation.

Mitch raced to placate him, huffing to clear his head, feet dragging across the floor and kicking up a cloud of dust. “How do I know you won’t shoot him as soon as I walk over?” he reasonably inquired.

“I give you my word,” Auston said, but it was as dull as an unsharpened blade. Matt was helplessly watching his drool bob out of his mouth, the fabric no longer able to keep it dry, already tired of hearing the two men negotiate the price of his life.

“I don’t trust you.”

“Oh that’s funny,” Auston laughed humorlessly, “because you’re one to talk about trust after you broke mine.”

It was a dead end, trying to negotiate with someone so deranged and it occurred to Matt that Mitch knew it. After all, no one knew Auston better than him. The hand curling the wisps of Matt's hair released him, letting him finally raise his head and work out the knots he got from the impromptu shoving and blistering posture his back was kept in.

Abby's hands were still on her belly, body half-concealed by the poor lighting of the residence. In front of her, Mitch stood braced. He was puffed up and frizzled, although Matt could see his skin was pasty and glistening. Combined with his poor eating, it only helped make him look more vulnerable than ever before.

“I’m not moving,” Mitch stated. He opened his arms up, as wide as a bird’s wingspan, and created a buffer that further hid Abby from view. “I won’t let you hurt either of them.”

“Mitchy, your arm,” Auston said, words trailing off in a horrified whine. The angry facade he’d been peddling immediately became worrisome, one hand trying to beckon Mitch close to get a better look at the damages.

“I’m fine,” Mitch said back instinctively, as he’d always been trained to do. “I’m much better.”

It did little to quell Auston’s overall anticipation. The man looked ready to bolt in the kid’s direction and spin him around, then wrap both of his hands around Mitch’s waist. He probably would’ve, if he was not occupied with pressing a gun to Matt’s head.

“Close your arms,” Auston finally spit out. “Don’t jostle it. Just come home. We’ll get you on pain meds," he said, like he didn’t have a whole counter of them lying in wait, ready to overdose Mitch into the next dimension.

“I’m not taking fucking anything until you let him go.” Mitch gestured at the puddle of shame that was Matt, prompting Auston to cock his head back down and look at him with displeasure.

"Auston," Abby peeped for the first time. "I know right now you're feeling conflicted but please put the gun down, we're civil we can talk--"

"Stay out of this!" Auston shouted, the outburst like a clap of thunder with how sudden it was. All three of his victims flinched back, Matt all too aware that he was another disturbance away from getting gunned down.

He hoped his face wasn’t bare enough to give away how close he was to losing it. If he let go, there was no telling what Auston would do to Abby.

“He took you away from me,” Auston spoke up, although at a much lower volume. He sounded like a child that’d had their favourite toy taken away (in retrospect, he very much was).

Mitch was willing to make hay while the sun shined. “Please Auston, I’ll come half-way and he meets me here. I won’t run, I promise. And if I do, I know you have at least five men outside. You can gun me down and do whatever and it won’t matter. You win. Please, I swear on my life.”

Auston snorted. If Matt wasn’t drowning in his own saliva, he’d yell at the notion that Mitch was going to give himself up.

“I’ve missed you,” Mitch said, choking up. “I’ve missed home. I want to see you again. I won’t do anything like this again. It wasn’t Marty’s idea to run, it was mine.”

The claim made one thing abundantly clear; the stories weren't going to line up if Mitch was taking the fall. Matt cowered in place, weighing whether or not Auston would be more inclined to believe him or Mitch; it only being the difference between one of them dying or not. Auston was impulsive enough to shoot him now that he knew he was lying, but he was probably more murderous believing Matt had spurned the initial idea.

A secret part of him wanted Mitch to take the fall. His consciousness wanted to beat him unconscious for thinking of it.

He’d hoped that would deter Auston’s deciding making, maybe buy them some time, but the inconsistencies were taking their toll. Auston’s face was back, glowering at him. If looks could kill, Matt would be skinned alive. Mitch saw it happening too, and his inability to stand still and do nothing reared its ugly head.

“I’ll fight,” Mitch intervened, determination overwhelming his expression. His arms folded back in, crossing over his torso as if expecting his chest to explode.

It was successful in diverting Auston’s attention back to him, where it’d surely be obsessed with for the time being. “What?” he asked, the sides of his face loosening because of the suddenness of Mitch’s declaration.

“If you don’t let them go, I’ll fight you the whole way home. I’ll hate you forever. You’ll have to trap me all over again.” Matt couldn’t withhold his reaction, he shook his head wildly. Before, he thought he’d been ready to let Mitch go, but it was a different story up in person. Leaving him behind shouldn’t have been an option in the first place. There had to be a way to get them all out without one giving up everything for nothing in return.

If his hand wasn’t fastened around a gun, Matt could see Auston palming his forehead. “Oh, for Christ’s sake--“

“I mean it, Matthews!” Mitch barked at him, mouth opened enough to reveal a mouthful of teeth pressed together in a snarl.

“Auston,” he corrected. “You’ve been spending too much time around Martin.”

“You can’t order me around right now. Either you let them go or I don’t cooperate.” Abby dared to reach out and grab Mitch's uninjured arm, but he shrugged her off. It wasn’t a scenario where she’d be able to calm him down anyway, despite her best efforts.

“Mitchy, what would you be without me? You can’t seriously be thinking about leaving long-term.”

“I can and I have.” Mitch got up closer, only faltering when Auston met him step for step. “So make up your mind or lose me, because I’m not sticking around with Matt’s body on my conscience. You know I won’t.”

“I--” Auston paused himself. He glanced back at Matt again, then at the gun in his hands. Logically, all the power should be in his hands. Mitch, however, had taken back the reins. Normally, he’d consider it progress. Now, it was to his detriment.

If he let Mitch go again, he’d never be able to get Mitch’s face out of his conscience.

“Don’t you want to get married?” Mitch elicited, holding out his left hand and wiggling his fingers where there was an empty void. Then and there, the dam of emotions Auston was holding back broke, and he let out a visible sigh that took the anger rushing out of him.

“Yeah,” he said. “I always did. You were the one that ran.”

“I did,” Mitch conceded. “It was a stupid, impulsive thought. I never got to see much of the world as a kid so I thought with the wedding on the rise I’d only have so long to do it. I wanted to protect Matt too, after all he’d done for me.”

Mitch took a second look at Matt, eyes rounded and wet. It was a non-verbal kind of goodbye that made his loins ache. Even if he wasn’t gagged, talking would just try Auston’s already thin patience. This was the best they were going to get, before they’d be shuttled off into both of their different worlds.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Auston said. “If it weren’t for Tavares I would have lost you for good. I had to stand by and watch you do that,” he pointed at Mitch’s right arm, “to yourself. If this was supposed to be a silly vacation, then it went too far. You’re going to have to recover for weeks you know.”

Mitch mustered a very forced nod. “I know.” They were so casual about it, treating it much a business engagement, both overlooking how Matt lunged forward.

The floor felt like it’d fallen out from Matt, his mind replaying every interaction with Tavares, including the initial phone call where the man was quick to assure him he’d be protected and sheltered from the Leafs. Whether he’d known then or would find out later and agree was irrelevant. It still made his throat constrict. He’d given everything he had and it still hadn’t been enough.

“Matt?” Abby's voice cut through the abyss of tension, embracing him like an old friend. He looked back up, embarrassed at what he’d been reduced to, and pitied them both knowing there was nothing he could do.

Their little exchange was cut short. Mitch opened up and plastered a smile that took over his entire face.

“I want to come home, I’m ready and I accept whatever punishment you want to give me.”

Wincing, Auston turned around so that he was facing the wall. “You need to get better, not worse Mitchy.”

“I know you’ll take great care of me,” Mitch gushed. “Let him go and let’s go home. We’re getting nothing done here. You’re a reasonable guy and I know you negotiate, so take my terms and let’s get back to normal.”

Mitch’s appearance was so bloody fake and fabricated he resembled more a Barbie doll than an actual person, but Auston wasn’t mentally strong when it came to him and that was a given, Miraculously, the flaming personality cooled to close, as if realizing there was nothing to be gained by dragging around a man with a dislocated arm and bloodied nose, to name a few of his numerous injuries.

He’d said many lies but one thing rang true and everyone in the room knew it. If Matt was shot dead, Mitch would never let Auston forget it. It was the one thing that could rival all the affection Auston could give.

“Fine.” Auston deflated like a used party balloon. “They can run along then. You better come forward though, or I’ll have you force you myself.”

“No tricks,” Mitch promised, crossing over his heart with his pinkie finger.

Auston said nothing for a few seconds, but then the gun was pulled away and the restraints loosened enough for Matt to wiggle out, wary of the way his arm hang loose. The gag fell limp in front of him, slick and sticking to his collarbone. Mitch, on his word, walked forward, head down. He didn’t even try to acknowledge Matt as he walked to meet Auston on the other side of the cement stretch.

The minute he was in arm’s reach, Auston lunged forward and hugged him. The grip around Mitch’s shoulder blades was so tense that Matt felt the aftershocks race through him. Auston didn’t even pause, aligning their faces and planting a quick kiss on Mitch’s lips, eager to reunite.

Matt walked forward without emotion and met Abby, who was in tears and shivering when his arms met hers. His one hand closed around the back of her head, soon joining the fingers spread on her belly. She was big enough to burst, should be swaddled in cloth being spoon-fed soup and crackers over Saturday morning cartoons. Instead, there were two bloody handprints, one blatantly painting the evidence of their baby with gore.

“Go,” Auston said, looking up, hair falling over his eyes from where his nose was buried in Mitch’s shoulder. He was back to the murderous persona, only softened where Mitch’s touch prevailed “Don’t ever let me catch you in Toronto again.”

He’d never forgive himself for taking Abby's hand and making a break for the entrance, burying and then burning all his memories of Mitch so that one day, he’d be able to cope with the guilt. All the while, he expected the piercing blow of a gunshot to embed itself in his skull and could only praise the lord, and his former best friend whom he’d so blatantly betrayed, when it didn’t.

 

**October 11, 2026.**

It was a gradual progression of ideas that he forces into Mitch’s head over the span of two weeks, working him down to the bone until Mitch more easily caved in. It started with dinner conversation and evolved into long lectures in the car, at least before Willy became the designated driver and began to shuttle them around, courtesy of Hyman and Auston’s meddling. Mitch wasn’t necessarily someone he’d describe as strong-willed; he bowed to increasingly frequent pressure, which led him to believe Auston sped up the process of conditioning via environmental influence, along with a good verbal prodding.

He took it as a challenge, a race against time. He could already see Auston beginning to separate them. Matt's last means of control was accompanying Mitch to his classes, and even then Auston was beginning to follow through on most of his threats and assign Willy to become dominant in the escorting process. Matt fell behind, was slowly churned out. He’d probably already be dead, if he didn’t have a name and reputation back in New York.

“You should think about leaving,” he said once, over lunch when Willy was getting ketchup for his fries. Mitch mocked him with a breathy little laugh, bending over his food to conceal the motion.

“Yeah, wouldn’t that be funny.” Matt frowned. His response lacked any seriousness, like the whole thing was a joke. It probably was; he was desensitized to the notion of leaving, the thought scrubbed clean with a magic eraser.

He couldn’t say much more because Willy was prancing back over with a university student on his arm, talking about some television show if the finger-gun hands were any indication. Matt finished up with a downturn of the eyebrows, hoping it expressed the worry breeding like bacteria inside of him. Mitch did acknowledge the change in facial expression, but nothing changed in the perception, cheeks still puffed up and knees knocking together under the table.

From there on out, Matt took it as a personal goal to change his mind. He only realized after dropping Mitch off at the penthouse that he’d been too vague; he could’ve meant anything. He needed some separation from the everyday conversation and his prompting if he wasn’t to be effective.

So he egged it into the car rides when Willy was ordering coffees or any bathroom breaks the three took where he could push Mitch into a metaphorical corner and tease out some affirmative answers. Mitch did push back after a while, coming onto Matt’s game and firing back with a few blows of his own.

“You should consider moving out or something,” he said in the middle of dunking his hands in a sink full of water. “I don’t know why you have to think so much about it.” The airy walls carried his voice, threatening to leak out to Willy and make itself at home in his consciousness.

“Because I like my life,” Mitch huffed, shucking free a strip of paper towel and wiping it across his hands to collect the excess moisture. “I like my home and my schooling and I’m working through the marriage thing. I’m happy you’re concerned but just leave it, okay?”

“Okay,” he replied, dejected. “It still doesn’t make it right. He’s just sucking up because he got caught. You don’t think he was actually going to tell you, right? If you’d never found out, well, maybe even now we wouldn’t know.”

Mitch tossed the scrunched up paper towel in the garbage. “I covered for you, man. I could’ve told Auston it was you.”

In a spark of frustration, Matt grabbed Mitch’s arm and pinned him in place. “You’re getting angry at the wrong person, Mitch, and you know it.” Mitch didn’t initially move. He stood in place, looking at the wall and said nothing. Then, he pulled his arm back abruptly, dislodging Matt’s hands and ripping the fingers off, taking off in the direction of the door.

It wasn’t the expected reaction but the stall was something. It was like Mitch'd been in the midst of debating the best course of action. Later, when he was about to slide his keycard to open up the gaping hole of the elevator shaft, he could see Mitch embracing Auston out of the corner of his eyes, Mitch’s lips dancing dangerously close to Auston’s ear. Matt tried not to panic nor assume the worst, but it was the only time he felt his allegiance truly falter; thinking Mitch had really gone off into the deep end and would sell him out for some peace and quiet.

Nothing happened though. He only braved the storm after a three day grace period where he kept his trap shut and let things play out as they should. He watched Mitch butter toast and peel back processed cheese to make a grilled cheese sandwich with, helped him sort the laundry and pair the socks together, and finally, turned off the television streaming network when Mitch fell asleep on his shoulder.

Then, it was back to square one. He outright raced to nail his opinions into Mitch’s head, whispering into one ear and encouraging he parrot them back to Auston. Bit by bit, he chipped away. No place was safe from his meddling; he brought his concerns into Mitch's home, into their private moments in the nights before big tests and cram studying.

“We’d get a nice home, somewhere away from here,” Matt said over the noise of the running shower. “Get a dog and a cat. When Abby has the baby then the family’ll be bigger.”

“How long until it’s born?” Mitch asked, making strides to avoid answering the question. A well-built defence, but one Matt had learned could be bent and eventually broken if he kept at it.

“She’s due in less than three months now. I’ll take you over to see her again on our lunch break. She’ll make lemon cake.” Mitch’s delightful giggles bounced off the walls, reverberating in the mouth of the sink until Matt’s head spun.

“About that,” Mitch turned the shower head off, shaking his head from behind the foggy glass shower wall, “Auston doesn’t want me seeing her anymore.”

“Of course he wouldn’t,” Matt scowled. “Why would he want you to be around a healthy, functional relationship? You might get a few ideas.”

It tamed the cheerful inflexion in Mitch’s voice, replaced it with a mimicry of something happy. The steam hid most of him, but his hunched back and sobered “not this again,” hurt something deep inside of Matt.

“I’m tired,” Mitch spoke under his breath. Matt was apprehensive with a sort of grief, for once considering what he’d put the poor boy through. At the same time, he felt how close he was getting to cutting the kid up enough to make actual progress.

“From me?” he worked on the boy, “or Auston? It’s fine if it’s both.”

“Both,” Mitch answered. He knocked once on the door to tell Matt he was ready to come out, and Matt fetched a clean towel to hand him. He kept his eyes trained on the mirror, giving Mitch the privacy he needed.

They’d seldom reentered the master bedroom when Matt turned to Mitch and took him by the bare shoulders, water droplets still trickling down from the bangs and onto the flushed skin. Mitch’s iris’, glimmering with the light refracting in from the windows.

“Mitch, we need to stop this. Now.” he quieted his voice to a coo, leaning in close enough that he could see how the bottom of Mitch’s lower lip trembled. “I don’t care what he’s told you. He won’t touch a hair on your hair or anyone you love’s while I’m here. You just got to promise me you’ll go We’ll make it, together.”

Mitch was downtrodden, looking as though a stampede of remorse had imploded in on him. “I don’t believe you,” he said, his voice reminiscent of a wail. The grousing, pitchy tone brought an onslaught of choked up sobs, until everything unravelled. Auston was in his study, reading, and two rooms over Mitch was bawling into his neck, talking about knives, tattoos, and champagne, all bubbling up from the memoirs of a troubled soul.

Everything was juiced out of him there, eyes swollen from crying and his ears likely ringing because of how many times Matt was forcing the idea of running into his head. Talking about how easy it’d be, where they’d go with Abby, and watching the sunrise on the roof of some nameless building, able to feel the wind in their hair. He talked up the filthy, loud city as much he could, because it wasn’t a time to be delving into the pros and cons. Mitch needed out.

When night fell, for real, Auston opened the door to see Mitch and Matt going over flashcards on the bed, eyes dabbed at until the tears had dried up and a convincing facade of content ironed on their cheeks. As Auston walked by discarding his sweater vest, he pecked Mitch’s cheek, swiping a card out from under him and balanced it on his head. It was so achingly cute. It made Matt want to be sick.

He left that night like he did many others. But the next few days were so wholly productive. Mitch wasn’t listening in on lectures, he was making lists of what would be the benefits of skipping town. Willy was sent on so many errands he'd probably sprain his legs from all the running, just to get the two of them alone and talking about what if. What if evolved into what should be, and then, what could they do; no longer a fantasy to hawk around. Matt made sure to voice that everything he said was to be taken one-hundred per cent seriously, collecting old receipts from Auston's behaviour and spilling them out in front of Mitch, pecking away at this outer crust until he crumbled.

Throughout it all, Auston was none the wiser beyond continuing to make strategic movements to get Matt out of Mitch’s face and back toward his normal workloads. Opportunities were springing up, meaning Matt was waking up on weekdays and going out to chaperone business deals and wine-tasting espionage missions rather than trailing after Mitch. It had the adverse effect that he wanted because it meant whenever they did meet up, Mitch and Matt got down to business and did so with a kind exactness Auston would envy. If it hadn't been for the divorce of the two of them Mitch might not have believed there were stakes, though in trying to do the right thing Auston was ironically causing a divide between him and his mistress that couldn't be healed and would culminate in the day he came home to an empty bedroom.

After weeks of planning and goading from both Matt and Abby, they set a date to ensure they'd flee. October 18th, the day of one of Auston's quarter report meetings that'd take up the whole night and give them more time to work with. Even with that tiny reassurance they checked and rechecked until their eyes bled, throughout it all Matt leaving behind little notices for Mitch to find so that the kid would continue playing underneath him and not peep leading up to the big day.

Watching Auston laugh amongst his subordinates post-assignment, flashing his money, cleverness, and pride, Matt wanted to laugh. Despite having all the power in the world, Matt would have the last laugh, even if he'd pay a heavy price for swiping Auston’s husband out from under his nose should he get caught. The wonder boy, one of many talents, could and would own everything but Mitch's loyalty. That would always belong to Matt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not only do you got a tumblr folks but i've also made pinterest boards for all my stories ohhhh boy  
> https://www.pinterest.ca/cursivecherry/  
> ready for the aesthetic? i am.
> 
> THANKS FOR FOLLOWING THIS STORY EVERYONE! This was such a joy. Didn't expect so many people to follow this story so wow, this is a lot to handle. Keep on the lookout for my future stories!

**Author's Note:**

> I draw fanart, make collages, and post updates for my stories at @cursivecherrypicking on tumblr, so do swing by and say hello if you want--I don't bite and I love suggestions and feedback.


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